


Wild West

by CMDAK



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: BAMF Q, Confused James Bond, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt James Bond, Hurt Q, M/M, Protective James Bond, wild west universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-01-06 01:54:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12201549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMDAK/pseuds/CMDAK
Summary: Politically, the States and UK were not the best of friends in the late 1800s. But when the West is invaded by a mad British Lord, the two countries are forced to get along.Lord James Bond and commoner Q are the two new British agents who are tasked with making sure that the West survives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the Wild Wild West TV series for this idea because blaming is what I do best.
> 
> Hope you enjoy~

To say that the relationship between England and the States was a chilly one was a severe understatement. They were a wrong word away from ordering their respective navies to duke it out and, in reality, neither ruler wanted that. Life was hard for the citizens of both countries, the US struggling to get out of what was considered to be the most lawless of their eras and England started to struggle behind the scenes to maintain their control over their colonies.

 

As such, when one of England’s own Lords became unhinged and decided that the Queen was no longer fit to rule and that he would prove he was the one for whom the crown was meant for by reconquering the US through means of assassinations of its current government, the crowned head and the elected one had no other choice but to work together to catch the insane – and rich – mad man.

 

Of course, this didn’t mean that the President and the Queen would personally do anything about it. Firstly, because not only would it send both countries into a fear fuelled chaos and secondly, because it would offer the Lord’s hidden supporters in both governments the perfect excuse to paint the rulers as weaklings and make overthrowing them / assassinating them – the Americans seemed to love shooting their presidents.

 

But their respective secret services easily found a way to deal with the problem. As the threat originated from England, it was the Queen’s duty to select suitable agents from her own ranks, present them with a decent monthly budget, and ship them over to the states where the President was to offer them leeway in their mission and, when necessary, backup so that they make take down the insane Lord.

 

Their attempts so far had ended in the agents being returned to England in wooden boxes because of reasons ranging from being severely underfunded and unprepared for such a long journey and mission to the agents themselves being traitors. But finally, in 1889, the Queen’s secret agency felt that they had found the perfect pair for this mission.

 

The main agent was James Bond, a Lord himself that hadn’t made a secret of the fact that he was bored out of his mind of the court etiquette and that he yearned for adventure. Of course, that wasn’t why they ended up turning him into a secret agent. He was also a very good sharpshooter, sly, and he wasn’t exactly easy to take down in hand-to-hand combat. Rumour had it that he was also quite a lover of the ladies and he had a certain je ne sais quoi that attracted them to his side no matter their marital status and, in reality, it was a little mishap with one of his many conquests that brought him in the path of the secret services.

 

The second agent was ‘a person of the people’, in the words of the Queen herself. However, despite his less than stellar scholar background and precarious position on the social ladder, he was a great inventor as well as sleight of hand, quick on his feet, and as silent as cat when needed. He had different reasons for joining the suicidal mission, but was no less desperate than Lord Bond to put an ocean between himself and England.

 

There was a bit of an age discrepancy on top of their different upbringing, but their new superiors were sure that if any problems were to arise because of that, the two would find a way around it. And if they turned out to be butting heads too much to see that they were in a situation in which they really needed to put their differences aside and work together, then new secret agents would be needed.

 

And their superiors started to search for their replacements the second they met.

 

“You’re too weak to carry my bags,” was the first thing ever that James Bond had told the person who was supposed to keep an eye on his back in the field.

 

Naturally, his partner was instantly pissed. “And you’re so full of yourself that I’m surprised you haven’t exploded yet.” The man said in the most posh voice that James had ever heard coming out from between the lips of a commoner and then promptly pushed passed him – making sure to step on his foot as hard as he could – so he could stomp onto the boat.

 

That left a stunned James to turn around and look incredulously at Miss Moneypenny who was the poor field agent who got stuck playing the role of the servant seeing their Lord and new friend off due to her gender

 

Miss Moneypenny was – understandably – less than happy about that. “My Lord knows how indisposed his friend gets when it comes to long trips over large bodies of water,” she said as nicely as she could because while the man-child before her was out testing God knows how many beds with other people’s wives, she had ensured that no royal blood was spilled in their own country or in the ones they were visiting so she felt that the roles should have been reversed.

 

Frowning, James pulled closer to the woman and she immediately lowered her head – although the glare she was giving him was a clear warning that should he try to be friendlier than allowed, he would never be able to have children ever again. “And might I know the name of my friend of whom I was told nothing else about besides the fact that he is a man who is loyal to the crown?” He whispered, daring to gently take her hands in his much like two hidden lovers would.

 

“You were given a bloody file on him two weeks ago and ordered to read it and learn it as if it were the Holy Bible, if my memory serves,” she hissed, taking in a shaky breath as she continued to play the role that James had thrusted upon her. “Don’t tell me that a man of your pedigree can’t read?”

 

James hummed and bowed, placing a kiss upon the back of her gloved hand. “I tried my very best to read, but the page the blasted thing always opened to was about a very boring mathematical equation that led into something chemistry related and before I knew it, I was fast asleep.” He had actually tried to solve the problem each and every time without peeking at the results because he considered himself to be a pretty smart person, but he always got lost in equations that hadn’t been shoved down his throat as a child and that resulted in him angrily throwing the file against a wall.

 

Barely holding back from rolling her eyes, Miss Moneypenny pulled herself free and turned her back to James, pulling a pink handkerchief from her petite bag which she used to daub her eyes of supposed unshed tears. “Then you best use this long journey to get to know your partner.”

 

That turned out to be easier said than done as the young man seemed to be dead set against interacting with him. For the first two days of the trip, he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of his still unnamed partner at dinner, on the deck, or anywhere on the ship. He worried that the ocean had stolen him even before they were properly introduced, especially since no one answered when he knocked on the cabin’s tightly shut door, but there was always a steward around to stop him from breaking into the room.

 

It was always “sir just had his meal and he wishes not to be disturbed while he digests the food” or “sir said that he is conducting a very important experiment that requires his complete concentration” and while most people would consider these excuses perfectly fine and accept them without suspicion, James was a newly appointed secret agent who hated not knowing things – and yet couldn’t be bothered to telegraph London and ask them to resend the file because it was much too simple and boring.

 

So when the third day rolled around, James felt confident about how he had mapped out the stewards’ routes and he was sure that he knew exactly at what hour he needed to kneel in front of the insulting door so he could break in without being bothered. Naturally, his well-thought-out plan went tits up the second he inserted his lock pick in the keyhole as the door was violently pulled open.

 

“I expected a Lord to know how to knock,” his partner muttered as he glared down at him with rather unfocused green eyes, his dark brown hair sticking up in every position possible, looking too pale to be considered healthy.

 

James pulled himself up, pocketing his lock pick. “I tried the proper approach, but…” he trailed off, shrugging. “You look like you could use a few more years under your belt before leaving the country without at least your governess.”

 

By the look he received, it was clear that his attempt at a joke was taken as an insult. “As I am part of the lower class, Lord Bond, I never had a governess.” He stepped out of his room, forcing James to back away unless he wanted his feet to be stepped on and closed the door behind him, locking it. “Now, what is it that you want? And make no mistake in thinking that I won’t throw your luggage overboard if you present me with it.”

 

“Be sure that you will quickly follow them if that were to happen,” James said with an honest smile on his lips. “Swimming lessons aside, I believe that at the very least I deserve to know the name of the threat against my luggage.”

 

“James Bond,” the man replied without a single moment of hesitation, frowning when he caught a glimpse of himself in a porthole.

 

“I admit that we got off on the wrong foot, but how about we start anew with you telling me your name?” James finally asked directly, leaning against the wall as he waited for the other to make himself look proper – and he bit his tongue to stop himself from suggesting that he’d need more than a hand through his hair because he did fear that if he continued to antagonize the wisp of a man, he would somehow find himself floating in the ocean alongside his bags.

 

The question itself seemed to confuse his companion and his brows knitting together as he slowly turn to look at James. “I highly doubt that they would omit putting that information in—”

 

“I didn’t read the file on you and yes, a Lord does know how to read,” he interrupted the man in a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just happen to find getting to know someone personally a lot more interesting and real than from the pages of a personal file.”

 

“I could tell you lies,” the man said after a moment.

 

James couldn’t really argue with that, but he had yet to leave logic stop him from getting his way. “You could also lie to whomever put that file together.”

 

Not really as that was put together after months of spying, interviewing those he knew, sneaking into the dump he called a home so they could dig through his belongings, but at least James played the role of the foolish innocent who didn’t know any better without a flaw.

 

“You can call me Q.” His nickname was the man’s treat and he dared the other to try and get his real name out of him.

 

But James had enough of a brain to know not to push this subject considering the rocky start they had and shook Q’s hand before inviting him to eat lunch together so they could get better acquainted and getting promptly shot down. This – eating together – was something he did insist on, and by the fifth day on the ship, Q revealed that he was seasick – which explained the sickly skin colour and why he always searched to look in the distance at a fixed point, his eyes widening whenever the ship rocked a bit more than he considered to be normal – and wished to keep the possible disgusting outcome of eating while in this state all to himself.

 

It wasn’t a surprise that Q was the first to leave the ship the second it docked and James suspected that if he were alone, the man would drop on the ground and start kissing it. He instead chose to close his eyes and take a deep breath, stretching in a way that reminded one of a cat freshly awakened from its nap before turning to grace the lord with an actual smile.

 

“Now then, the file which I am sure you still haven’t read said something about a private train, so we need to find the train station,” he said excitedly, the colour returning to him with each step he gingerly took.

 

There was no train station, at least not so close to the port where they pulled in and their first contact in the States – who went by the name of Raoul Silva – informed them that they would have to ride approximately half a day before they reached their destination. James glanced at Q, expecting to see him turn white again but it was time for him to learn that his partner was full of surprises, so instead of fear, he saw pure joy.

 

“Do we get to keep them?” He asked, already getting in the saddle of the grey one.

 

“Consider them a welcome gift from the pre—”

 

“I don’t remember when we decided that you’d get first pick,” James interrupted Silva, crossing his arms over his chest. “Or that this first choice will stick, especially since something tells me that you’re a dark horse, so the black one would definitely fit you better.”

 

He didn’t really care about which one of them got whatever horse, mostly because he had managed to get their so-called boss agree to ship a few personal items and animals over to America if their first mission there went smoothly and if no further harm was done to the relationship between the two countries, so Q would end up with both horses in the end, but teasing was how he befriended others – that and bribery, according to his oldest servant.

 

“I do not pick my horses for their colour, but for the way their body is shaped as that helps pick out a fast one,” explained Q as he rode in little circles around James, getting the horse to do a few tricks. “Plus, the black one is a mare and she’s pregnant and I could never find it in my heart to ride one in such a state.”

 

Silva snorted, frowning. “That’s preposterous,” he exclaimed and tugged the horse closer to James, giving him the reins. “I’m well aware of the fact that you think of us as savages, Mister Boothroyd,” the family name sounded familiar to James, “but we do have enough of a brain not to have you use something that might go into labour when you need it the most. I do agree that she is a little plump, but pregnant she is not!”

 

Q rolled his eyes, but did not insist. Instead, he rode as slowly as he could, forcing both James and Silva to do the same. He pretended not to know how to ride when the American exploded at him that they were losing precious time and even made to fall when he was called out to it and claiming that the tricks they accused him of having done with that horse before were nothing but figments of their tired imagination.

 

Silva turned for help to James, explaining that the faster they got to the bloody train, the faster he could show them around town and introduce them to a very respected lady and her friends who would make them truly feel welcomed into this country.

 

It was a very tempting offer, James would admit, especially since some of his acquaintances had shared with him long and lewd stories of the goings on behind the doors of such an establishment, but he ended up choosing to side with his partner and slowing his horse down enough to walk shoulder to shoulder with him – his way of showing the other that he would stand by him, as all partners should, even if he doubted his words.

 

He had many plump horses that were like that not because they were pregnant, but simply because they were old and preferred to graze over galloping freely without anyone on their backs. For all he knew, the horse under him had simply been overfed and not exercised properly but, again, having the back of someone who could save you in a dire situation was more important than tasting the American carnal pleasures.

 

In the end, the trip lasted close to six hours and by the time they got to the train, everybody was sore, tired, sticky, and Silva was in an especially bad mood which he struggled not to show. “The first cart, the one right behind the locomotive, has been divided into two parts as that is where you’ll keep the _not_ pregnant horses and where the train’s small crew will sleep,” he started to explain and point even before he got off his horse.

 

“He’ll be properly pissed when the foal comes,” Q muttered loud enough for the other to hear him, shooting him a grin when Silva turned to glare at him. “Do go on presenting, sir. I am pretty sure that if you’re fast enough, you might still be able to meet at least one friend of that prestigious lady you kept on talking,” ‘grumbled’ was a proper term, but he had been taught better than to fully antagonize his host, “about all the way here.”

 

Silva muttered a few choice words under his breath before continuing. “The second cart is where you’ll sleep and carry your experiments, so do try your best not to mix something up in there that will result in you blowing yourselves up.”

 

“Only way that would happen—”

 

“The third and last cart,” Silva interrupted Q before another insult could leave his lips, “will act as the lounge where you will be free to do as you please.” He presented James with a set of keys and some papers before pulling out a handkerchief and wiping some of the beads of sweat that had gathered at the base of his neck. “That will allow you two to move freely on our railways and it also names both yourself and Mister Boothroyd as the owners of this train so do not lose them or allow them to be stolen.”

 

Formalities out of the way, Silva graciously re-extended the invitation to enjoy the nightlife of whatever town they were in towards James and begrudgingly towards Q, obviously praying to be turned down.

 

And his wish was granted. “I have to inspect the inside and get my laboratories up and running and see if we can really sleep in the rooms or if we’ll suffocate from the horses’ smell.”

 

James left the man to his own devices and when he returned in the morning, slightly tipsy, partially asleep, and fully satisfied about the veracity of the stories he had head, he was surprised to find what he could only describe as a hyperactive Q running from train car to train car, dressed in the same clothes as the night before, hair almost as wild as the glint in his green eyes that were hidden behind a pair of askew glasses, a screwturner in his hand.

 

“What are you doing?” James asked after he managed to catch Q, forcing him to sit down on the lavish sofa in their lounge, one of the servants bringing in a bowl of lukewarm water and a clean cloth for them.

 

“This train struck me as very easy to break in, so I did a bit of improvements here and there,” said Q simply, pulling his shirt off and starting to wash himself. “I got permission for that from Washington – as this is their train – not an hour after you left.”

 

James used this opportunity to size Q up, sighing when he saw that he could literally count the ribs on the man. He was sure that if he were asked to hold his breath, he would be able to see the man’s spine from the front, but he kept that observation to himself and did not allow himself to worry about any field work. Surely he, the great Lord who took down about six royal guards while half drunk, was going to be the muscle and this underfed stick with the interesting cure of his insomnia would only leave the train during their downtime.

 

“Did you do the same to our rooms?” James asked, nodding his thanks for the second bowl of water as he started to strip, flexing a little at his staring companion, silently letting him know that he could be counted on in case anyone cornered them in a dark alley. “And if so, would you care to tell me what the improvements are?”

 

Q shrugged, finally ripping his eyes away from the well-toned muscles and Greek-like chest before him. “Truth be told, I have no idea how those rooms even look, but I’d hold back from trying to sneak in via any of the other windows, or any type of doors that this train has. I instructed our crewmen to avoid doing the same and assured them that we wouldn’t really care who they visited in the night provided they keep on doing their jobs.”

 

Now, the second James was asked not to do something, he had the overwhelming urge to do just that – though he wasn’t stupid. He’d assess the situation before doing the exact opposite of what he was told, backing away if he felt like it might be deadly for him and Q’s words set off all sorts of loud and impossible to ignore alarms in his head. But even so, his curiosity had been piqued. “What would happen if that would slip my mind and I suddenly decided that I’d like to come in through a window for a change?”

 

Q just grinned at him, but James would get his answer nor one day later when they had started to follow a thread that might either lead to their final goal or to the dens of one of the many bandits that unofficially ruled the States and someone decided that they would better serve the world if they died in their sleep.

 

The moment the intruder’s knife slipped in through the window to unlatch it, the sharp blade cut an almost invisible wire which got them blown a few feet away from the stationing train, a shrill alarm waking everyone up in time to see Q jump out the window after their attacker, dressed in nothing but a shirt that was clearly too big to be his, gun drawn.

 

The intruder was still out when Q got to him – ‘Good thing too because I forgot my glasses in the room so it didn’t really matter if I aimed or not and I have never fired one of these things in my entire life’ – and only came to about an hour later, instantly starting to spill everything about the man he worked for and the little he knew about his plans.

 

And just like that, their first mission was complete even before they were assigned to it and Silva had a stern talking to with Q over how much money would have to be wasted in order to repair the damages to the train. Not that Q cared. He looked like a lord in his own right as he sat on the sofa, legs crossed, occasionally taking a sip from his steaming hot cup of tea, seemingly more focused on what he was reading than what was being shouted at him.

 

“I’ll wire my estate for the money this one time since it did save us, Silva, so do calm down,” James muttered, trying to massage his headache away. It was less fun to see his partner butt heads with someone when he was completely ignored and he really failed to understand how some women found that fun.

 

“And I promise to use less explosive and give up a huge chunk of my monthly fee until I pay Lord Bond back,” Q chimed in, grinning when that sent Silva another rant about safety and funds administration and what the difference was between a know-it-all, circus showman that he seemed to be and a secret agent.

 

He became even more furious than he already was when a servant sneaked in the room and whispered something in Q’s ear that him grinning like that Cheshire cat a Mister Lewis wrote about. “I thought you British people were a well-mannered bunch, not some snotty, stuck up bastards,” Silva was saying when Q finally turned his attention to him.

 

That insult got under James’s skin as well, but Q pushed his book in his hands as he got up, distracting him from doing something as dangerous and ill-thought as changeling him to a duel. “My dear sir, the only reason why I am treating you like this is because you second-guessed me on the fact that the mare was pregnant.”

 

“And because you were wrong about that, you decided to make a huge hole in our budget?”

 

Q looked genuinely offended and angered by that accusation, but managed to keep his temper in check. “I honestly didn’t mean to use so much explosive as I could have damaged myself or my partner and I was not wrong about the mare as I have just been informed that she has gone into labour.”

 

Later on, Q would metaphorically throw the beautiful and healthy foal that was born in Silva’s face whenever he would second guess them or try to argue that their plans were far too convoluted to work, but the direct result of nature proving Q to be right was Silva deeply and profoundly apologizing to him and inviting him on a dinner in the best restaurant that they could find in the small town they were in.

 

“I will accept your offer only if Lord Bond joins us,” Q said, turning to smile at his the man he knew only from the pages he had memorized by heart while trying to convince himself that he was most definitely not in the middle of the ocean on a boat that could sink at any moment.

 

James happily returned the friendly gesture. “Why, it will be my pleasure.” After all, although they were expected to be partners, they knew nothing about one another. “And do call me James.”

 

The best restaurant turned out to be a complete rat hole – according to James’ standards – but Q seemed to like it well enough even though he had originally let out a long sigh when he saw that they were entering a Saloon. He stressed over what food to get until James just asked for everything that was on the menu – Silva turned a bit white at that, but calmed down once it was made clear who was going to foot the bill in the end – and once the table was full of acceptably smelling plates, he proceeded to devour everything his thin fingers touched.

 

It turned out that Q had done little besides nibbling ever since they had arrived in the States, admitting with red cheeks that the simple act of eating, no matter how important, had slipped his mind. “Almost all of the previous agents had met their end in this train and I wanted to be sure that wouldn’t be the case with us.”

 

Unable to hold back anymore – and after Q had swallowed what he was chewing on – James poked his side, causing the other to reveal just how incredibly ticklish he was by jumping close to Silva and glaring. “I’ll do that to you the next time I find out you skipped meals,” he promised, winking.

 

“Do you really think so highly of your observation skills that you think you can tell when that will happen considering that this is our first meal together in close to two weeks?” Q challenged.

 

James grinned, tapping Q’s side. “How hard can it be to spot a flying man that’s desperately trying to grab onto the roof of my train when the wind slightly picks up?”

 

Q arched his eyebrow in a way that made James doubt his smartness. “I distinctly remember Mister Silva saying that the train was ours. Did I sign my rights away to it and then promptly forgot? Or do I suddenly have way over half of your fortune in a bank somewhere and telling me just slipped your mind?”

 

It was clear that James had found his new favourite hobby and, if Q’s smile and relaxed posture was any indication, so had he. They both made themselves more comfortable on their respective chairs and moved so that they were fully facing each other, but before their pleasant banter could continue, Silva reminded them that he was also there by inserting himself in the conversation and completely derailing it by apologizing to Q once more.

 

Silva went on to compliment his good eye and to question – if he were allowed and if it wouldn’t be considered rude – how he had developed such an unusual skill. “Not so unusual when one had been a stable boy for quite a few years in their childhood,” Q said matter-of-factly, uncaring that Silva was repositioning both of them so that they would be facing each other.

 

“You must have a lot of fascinating stories which I would love to hear if you wouldn’t mind sharing,” the man pushed, signalling over the saloon girl and pointing to James. “My esteemed colleague here if quite interested in getting a taste of everything that you have to offer.”

 

The woman turned her charming smile to James and asked, in a quiet and sweet voice, if he had tried a type of alcohol that the establishment was supposedly well-known for – a glass of which was presented to him even before he was done shaking his head. She then proceeded to explain in enough detail to make it interesting but not boring how the drink was made, James mentally applauding her for the cockamamie story she was spewing.

 

She expertly changed the conversation over to him, sneaking in an order for herself as she sat down at their table, running her fingers up his arm as she listened with interest to tales of his childhood in England – or faking it, although the way she held herself looked like the contrary to that – and, after maybe fifteen minutes since they’ve met, she invited him back to her room so they could continue to ‘talk’ uninterrupted.

 

James glanced at his two companions, Silva nodding in approval while Q shrugged uncaringly at the outcome despite looking a bit uncomfortable about getting stuck with their talkative host. Still, they were outside of a mission, so he did not want to restrict James’ fun activities, provided they didn’t lead him to betraying them or getting them killed.

 

“I have a few friends who would just love to keep them entertained, sugar,” she purred when she noticed what his worry seemed to be and as if on cue, two of her said friends wrapped themselves around Q’s and Silva’s arms, batting their eyelashes at them and giggling even though nothing was said.

 

“I will, sadly, have to turn that offer down, no matter how tempting it is,” Q said quickly, managing to dodge the woman’s lips, accidentally touching another woman’s breasts with his head. “I’m so sorry,” he quickly apologized, taking a few coins from inside his pocket and pushing them in her hand. “I am so tired that I cannot even sit properly and I would be more than a huge disappointment for you, ladies.”

 

He must have been really tired because, as far as James was concerned, it was inconceivable for another man to admit that he wouldn’t be able to ‘perform’ in front of other women and outright deny that in front of other men. But that seemed to make the women even more determined to get him to follow at least one of them back to their room by rubbing his back, pushing their bosoms against him while sweetly pleading for a chance and promising to help him ‘cure’ of his tiredness.

 

Silva ended up being Q’s saviour – although James also chipped in by offering to test each and every one of their remedies – by simply reminding the girls that the sheriff had recently married the daughter of a priest whose older, very religious brother had just opened a newspaper agency and how that resulted in their once very loyal customer being turned against the establishment and them in particular.

 

“Best to be back at the train by tomorrow afternoon,” Silva said in a slightly raised voice tone so he could be heard by the other over the chattering women who had wasted virtually no time in attaching themselves to the willing man. “If you miss it, you’ll be on the first boat back to London and Mister Boothroyd—”

 

“Just call me ‘Q’ already.”

 

Silva smiled and bowed his head a little, hand over chest. “I am honoured,” he muttered and even James felt that it was too much, Q agreeing with him with his sigh and eye roll. “ _Q_ will need a new partner.”

 

James supposed that the warning would have had more effect on him if only he and Q actually cared about each other at least a tiny bit more, but as things stood… Not that he wanted to go back to London. “I wouldn’t miss the quaint little trip around the States that awaits us for the world,” he said and turned at the pointing woman in his lap, gently taking her petite hands in his and kissing her knuckles. “Sorry, darling; not even for your pretty little smile or your soft and caring touch.”

 

Q shook his head at how lame the line was, but the woman seemed to genuinely like it as she at first looked surprised and then blushed and then made to hide her face in his neck before a slightly older woman that sat silently behind them nudged her to remind her of where she was, what she was doing and, sadly, what she was. He couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, her biggest dream was for one of her customers to actually fall in love with her, marry her, and take her out of this dump.

 

“I will be back way before the train leaves,” James interrupted Q’s thoughts, winking at him before shifting his attention back to the women.

 

Left alone with the brownnosing Silva, Q quickly made up a lie about a sudden stomach ache and excused himself. Silva tried to plague with his presence a bit more by offering him a stay at his hotel or at least be permitted to give him a ride back to the train in his horse and buggy, but Q’s horse was already trotting away before the offer could be completed no matter how rude it was. As far as he was concerned, Silva was the rude one for insisting despite Q being more than obvious in his need of solitude.

 

He read a good book, shared a sherry with ‘the help’, got better acquainted with the train’s conductor and the people who shovelled the coal and then promptly whooped everybody’s asses at cards, spending the last two hours before dawn reading about the supposed gambling heaven that was Nevada even though he had no real interest in that outside of using as an excuse to get to know better certain people.

 

James was not surprised in the least to find him napping on the sofa. “After the night I had, you’re the one who’s supposed to lead me to my room,” he joked as he helped the man throw his arm around his neck and reminded him how to properly put on foot in front of the other.

 

“If your smell is anything to go by, I’ll be in utter shock if you’ll be able to relieve yourself without cursing the seven seas,” Q muttered, opening one eye when he was led directly into a wall. “Very mature of you, what can I say.”

 

James shrugged, falling flat on his ass as he did that. “I’m drunk; I was pretty sure I was taking you through the door.” He held his hand out to Q, looking expectantly at him.

 

“I’m sleepy, so I’m pretty sure that I can barely hold myself up,” Q shot back, shaking his head and yawning, falling flat on the ground thanks to a not so helping hand. “You’re more a child than a nobleman.”

 

“A drunk nobleman acts like a child,” James argued, now back on his feet and dusting himself off before easily picking Q up by the back of his shirt. “But even so, I’m a gentleman.”

 

Q quickly covered his nose, pulling a face. “An unwashed one, that’s for sure. Please throw me in the stables so I can regain my sense of smell.”

 

They tripped on each other two more times before they actually managed to get into their rooms, both acting worse than they really were while thee servants awkwardly hovered around them just in case they either managed to fall off the train or their fighting turned real and guns were needed to be pried out of hands before bullets started to fly. If this was the way they acted when they were in their downtime, they were really curious to see how they would click on a mission that involved more than simply showing up at a shootout or chase that was already in progress.

 

James was obviously the type who ran headfirst into things and expected things to fix themselves with as little input from him as possible while Q was the type who fussed over every little detail and micromanaged as much as it was possible if the way he dealt with the entire train while his partner was out drinking was anything to go by. It was also clear that James was used to be in the lead since he was of noble birth but it was also clear that Q wasn’t the type of ‘peasant’ that easily accepted orders and since they assumed that a leadership fight was going to break out any day now.

 

Only, it didn’t. The mission still ended up more complicated than it was supposed to be as, for whatever reason and despite the fact that they had both been in the room when the mission was received – Q deciphering the message – they didn’t plan things together. Although the train being stopped for an attempted robbery a few moments after the message was received might have had something to do with that, James riding off into the proverbial sunset with the three robbers tied to their respective horses and those to his while Q was locking himself in one of the laboratories.

 

Two days later, their paths finally crossed when James was coming out of a dress store with two large bags in his right arm and the loveliest of deadly flowers attached to his left arm, giggling at whatever he said and Q was trying to get the half-drunk deputy to not arrest him after he had seemingly nagged him for quite a while to give him a coin.

 

Their eyes met for a moment and James thought he saw a quiet scream for help in them, so he intervened. “I don’t think that a fine gentleman as yourself should concern themselves with the likes of him,” he addressed the deputy, the man turning around with the clear intention of insulting him and maybe even threatening to arrest him, but stopping when he saw who was keeping James’ company.

 

“G-good day, Miss Blush,” the drunken man stuttered, remembering to take his hat off only when the woman frowned in his direction.

 

To people who didn’t know what was going on in this little town, this might have seem strange, but not to James or Q or the people on the street who were quick to make themselves lost as the woman’s temperament usually got the best of her and she had no mercy, even if the person who angered her was a semi-important man in her real lover’s gang.

 

“Mister Orso, isn’t it a bit too early in the day for you to smell like this?” She asked and James was quick to give her his napkin while also manoeuvring the glaring Q behind himself.

 

“There was fight in the saloon and someone hit me with a bottle over the head,” he lied badly, trying to make himself smaller when he saw the woman revealing her riding crop.

 

But before he could get punished, James drew the attention back to himself and Q. “I will give you half a dollar if you make yourself useful and carry these bags for me and the lady without trying to make a run for it.” In his opinion, his young partner had no idea what he was doing and he needed to be protected, so he planned on keeping him under his wing until it was safe to send him back to the train.

 

Q, however, knew exactly what he was doing and wanted to throttle James for butting in on his operation. “I wouldn’t want to get my grime all over—”

 

“Nonsense,” James interrupted him and shoved the bags in Q’s arms, wrapping his own around Miss Blush’s middle and started to lead her away.

 

A bit later, when they were being shot at – James only wearing a union suit because of course he had managed to convince Miss Blush, the ruthless killer and second in command of a gold smuggling organization that was suspected of being associated with the rogue UK lord, to have sex with him – their plans were shared.

 

Q’s was to be arrested, prove how easily he could break out of things, which was sure to land in a nice position in the gang and James’ was to simply get all the information they needed from his bed partner. Those all went to hell when their main target walked in on James’ plan and Q had to drop the act when he heard the gunshots upstairs and while they both shared a laugh and a promise to never surprise each other like this ever again after the survivors of the shootout were arrested, Silva was less than happy.

 

His face turned red as he hissed at them about proper protocols and laws that needed to be followed, but he was ignored since they suddenly remembered that some bullets had grazed them and those wounds needed to be dealt with.

 

“You’re very good with a gun,” Q pointed out after Bond was done patching him up. “How many duels did you win before they dragged you here?”

 

Obviously hating to be ignored, Silva got between the two but suddenly forgot what he wanted to say when he saw that Q looked like an Egyptian mummy. “You _must_ permit me to take you to a hospital in Washington!”

 

“Followed the instructions in that kit to the letter,” assured James, starting to grin as he pulled a little notebook from his ripped and dusty pants. “Although if Q feels a bit queasy, I have more than enough addresses for acclaimed nurses that could take care of _both_ of us.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he said that and even before Q was done rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Silva was ranting again.

 

Those things would end up being a staple of their missions: Q getting hurt, James just dirty, Silva ranting and fretting over Q, and James suggesting that a night out with the girls he picked up in that week’s town would fix everything. Q sometimes took James up on the offer but always disappeared into the night after profoundly apologizing to his date and always got annoyed by Silva, and after the fourth time he almost got another hole in his body because they weren’t founded well enough to create something that he called ‘bulletproof suits’, James linked their arms together and dragged him out of the train that was in repairs while they were in their downtime.

 

“You need to start going sightseeing, Q.”

 

“We do more than that while on actual, James, and I still have a headache from yesterday,” whined Q in his ear as they slowly trotted into town, although it had more to do with all the alcohol he had in that special saloon Silva took them to than with the piece of wood he got over the head. “I swear that I’ll use the bar as a bed if you drag me into a saloon and I will do my very best to kick every glass around me towards you.”

 

“We’re going to postal office so I can ask my estate to wire me some money so you can build a few of those things you keep entertaining our female friends with.” James grinned since he practically felt the life flow back in his battered partner’s bones. “And afterwards, we’ll take a civilian train into the next town and unwind for real without Silva breathing down your neck.”

 

James ended taking them to the Hot Lake Hotel and despite almost all of the female staff and nurses instantly taking a liking to him, his attention remained on Q. Noticing this, Q asked if he had gotten something on top of pleasure from one of his _intimate_ new friends, but James pointed out that even though they had been partners in these strange lands for over four months, they only knew the basis about each other and that they could trust each other.

 

“Given what we’re doing…” Q trailed off in order to let out a little moan in pleasure as all the tension was eased out of his back by the nibble fingers of his masseuse, James sitting up in surprise at how pleasant the sound was and shooing away the woman that was taking care of him in order to better focus on him. “Ah, where was I?”

 

“I believe you were getting used to live life to the fullest.”

 

Q hummed, a little sad smile appearing on his lips. “Best not to do that with something that I won’t have when we go back home.” He was startled when the oil touched his skin, the woman profoundly apologizing to him while better tucking the newly received bribe in her dress. “No need to worry,” he assured her and then opened one eye to look at James, “and I believe that I was saying that trust is the best thing we could have between the two of us, given what we’re doing.”

 

James partially agreed. “A deep friendship on top of that would be even better, don’t you think?”

 

Both of Q’s eyes opened at that and after gently sending his masseuse away, he moved close to James. “Mister Bond, are we perhaps on a surprise mission that you somehow caught wind of while I was asleep?”

 

“Though I know that we’re supposed to always be on our toes, paranoia doesn’t suit you outside the field,” James muttered, ringing a bell. “It also tenses you back up, so you need one more hour of oil massage.”

 

He got Q to open up a bit more while they were soaking in the thermal spring, although before he could find out more than the fact that he was poor and that the two of them wouldn’t have so much as shared a look that wasn’t drenched in disgust if they were back in their country, that had worked in a factory, then as a paperboy, and most recently as a telegraph boy, James was hit by a wave of dizziness.

 

“You really should pay at least some attention to what the women tell you, James, not just how they look,” Q chided him as he struggled to help him get back to his room where buckets of ice awaited them. “And here was I thinking that your face turned red of embarrassment.”

 

“A lord never blushes,” he lied because he was doing that right now and he was actually thankful for once in his life that he was sick. “Now tell me, are you heat resistant because you worked in the factory?”

 

The door opened just as he finished asking that and James expected Q to excuse himself and leave him alone with the hotel’s nurse, but his young partner remained firmly planted by his bedside and vigorously wrote down all that he was supposed to do in order to make him better. And again, James was put his money on Q trying to impress the woman – he didn’t really know what type Q preferred, but assumed they had to be cute and smart and just a bit shy, which the nurse was – but that bet was lost faster than the first ice cube placed on him.

 

“She was hitting on you,” James pointed out after his first glass of alcohol was ripped away from his hand and replaced with one full of water.

 

“I know,” Q said simply and then shoved the thermometer left behind by the nurse in his mouth. “She’s not my type and before you start asking questions like the nosy old woman you turned into, let me to remind you that you currently have a thin glass tube filled with mercury in your mouth.”

 

Given how interested Q was in reading, James absolutely no problem presenting all of his questions in a book. If only the man would actually let him get up from the bed, but the temperature must have been wrong because Q put a few more bags of ice over his chest after glaring at the thermometer and then himself on his legs after his third attempt to get up.

 

“You’ll have to keep me entertained if you plan on keeping me here for the whole night,” said James and Q rolled his eyes.

 

He knew that James wasn’t acting like your regular bored nobleman and what the man wanted to do and he regretted not dropping by the hotel’s telegraph office to ask their head office for a copy of his personal file. Still, while he could play the suddenly sore throat card and just ask a few of the elder nurses and male doctors to deal with the fussy man, he hated owing anyone anything and a short version of his life story was something that he could share.

 

“I won’t repeat myself, so try not to fall asleep and if you interrupt me, I’ll make you eat your own fist,” he warned and then began.

 

He didn’t disclose anything that he considered to be of real value, just little titbits that would eventually come up in actual conversations if they were allowed to have proper downtime, but James thought otherwise. How could it be of little consequence that Q had no idea if there were any foods that he didn’t like or that he was allergic to? That meant he either had to send for his family chef to cook everything under the sun and have a doctor on standby or keep a closer eye on him when they’re eating in the field.

 

His favourite food was a mystery to him, but James had picked up on his obvious love of sweets and he pointed that out. He didn’t say that his face lit up whenever he was presented with a cake or that his eyes almost rolled in the back of his head whenever his tongue came in contact with sugar because that wasn’t appropriate, but he would ditch his own deserts when possible in his favour.

 

Q fell silent and still for a moment and James started to try to somehow find a way to lean over without jostling him too much in the off chance he was actually asleep, freezing in his tracks when the man spoke up. “Coffee, however, is something that I hate with a burning passion.”

 

James snorted. “The one sip you took ended up more on me than in you.”

 

“That happened a month ago and I still feel that bitter taste in my mouth,” Q snapped at him as if he had been the one practically drenched in scalding hot water. “Tea, however…”

 

“Is boring,” James finished, snorting when he heard Q’s honestly shocked gasp. “It all tastes the same.”

 

“Well, if you only buy the one brand and constantly add just two lumps of sugar—”

 

“I assure you that I had tea imported from all over the world,” James interrupted, startled when Q leaned over him so he could show him the full extent of his glare. “You tried coffee once while I was forced to drink that leafy water for as long as I remember, so you don’t get to judge me.”

 

“It’s nothing less than common sense for my family to choose food over tea.”

 

James opened his mouth and then quickly closed it as Q had just executed a perfect verbal slap. There had been no bite behind his words, just honesty and truthfulness and that was what made it so efficient. But while normally a long awkward silence would follow, Q did not allow that. He just simple started talking about the various types of tea he had recently fallen in love with, voice a bit softer, and James felt like he had just learned how and why people could find satisfaction in what some considered to be the small things in life.

 

When Q did finally fall silent, obviously tired as the sun was maybe an hour away from rising and also satisfied that he had verbally paid enough for the trip, James lost the mental fight with the thing he was most curious about.

 

Now, he made sure to underline the fact that he did not question Q’s smartness – because it would be stupid to do that after seeing all those mathematical formulas on the writing boards they had in the train and after using so many of the gadgets he created on the spot – but he was still curious as to how he was permitted to grow his genius and why hadn’t the two of them rubbed elbows during the many events thrown for fresh money that he had attended.

 

“I’ve seen way too many sunrises to find them poetic, James, so shut up,” Q grumbled and stole all of the covers, hoping that he’ll manage to turn himself into a thick enough cocoon not to hear the other talking.

 

“But—”

 

“Oh my God, you’re worse than Silva,” Q exploded, jumping up from the bed. “I’m going to my room and since it’s more than clear that you still have energy, I’ll send over whatever woman I bump into that so much as saw your talkative ass today.” He slammed the door before James got any word in and covered his ears so well that he missed lunch on the following day.

 

At least his massage session began with a cup of good tea and no James around to bug him, so that was actually relaxing. Dinner, however… Well, Q couldn’t honestly say that he hated that since the man had a rather interesting story, even though he had already read it. Twice – though he skipped over the long list of ex-fiancé and when James mentioned the first one, Q was quick to shove a small loaf of bread in his mouth.

 

“Gentlemen – and, implicitly, noblemen – don’t kiss and tell, so please act like one and spare me the surely sordid details.”

 

The last day, James landed himself the hottest hotel guest and the woman’s traveling companion was anything but subtle in her flirting, but nothing came into fruition for anyone because Silva came crashing in with a new mission and the promise of a severe talking-to about running away without letting anyone know as soon as everything was over.

 

However, they were spared from that by the fact that not only did Silva join them on their mission and was an active participant, but he also ended up getting hurt in place of Q and while James was truly happy to see his partner without a bandage anywhere on him for once, he was also irked.

 

Irked that he had missed the hidden shooter, irked that Silva had to run out of his covers two barrels away in order to jump over Q, irked that the man wasn’t boasting about that as much as he thought he would, irked that Q seemed to no longer be antagonizing him, and most of all, irked that he had failed his partner.

 

Missions had also become more stressful for James, even after Q finished his new invention and proved that it really could stop some bullets, but that was the problem. It didn’t stop _all_ bullets, just _some_ and his head was still exposed and he still got clobbered even if James had started to teach him how to defend himself.

 

And then there were the near death experiences Q got in his laboratories. One time, he was playing around with some materials that proved to be highly combustive when introduced to cold air and although Q was more than aware of that and claimed to not only have personally informed James of that and even left a note on the door, he still ended up with slightly singed hair and a minor cold from getting a bucket of cold water dumped on him by a panicked James.

 

Then there was the water that exploded when it was moved a bit too  violently and no one but Q was to blame for that one because, hello, moving train. Knives that were too sharp, other things that looked normal but exploded when a certain thing was done to them, guns hidden in everyday objects, and things that could stick you to a wall for a certain amount of time provided you weren’t too fat and that Q had to test first before testing him.

 

Now minus the exploding water, Q didn’t have major problems with his inventions inside his workshop and they always saved their lives while on missions, but James realized he had an overactive imagination and his heart dropped in his stomach more than once when Q explained what each thing was supposed to do and how horribly wrong everything could go if they were used incorrectly.

 

And, of course, they had such horrible luck and the people they went up against were so insane and convoluted when it came to the methods they wanted to kill them that they ended up having to do that more than once to get out alive – James made sure that he was the one doing the dangerous part and had Q sit far away from him, even when they were stuck on the bottom of a dried up well and there was no real space there.

 

“Move further away and cover your face,” James instructed.

 

Q’s right eyebrow went up faster than James could blink and he instantly knew how pissed off the man was because if he was curious, he would have arched his left one and if he was confused, both of them would have went up while tilting his head. “A rock is literally digging into my back and what I hope was a rat just used my shoulder to get to its nest, so how about you start yapping and light the bloody fuse before they turn me into their bloody lunch?”

 

“You not letting me yap is what got us here in the first place,” James pointed out, looking quite proud of the reluctant nod he got. “Are you sure this is the only way we can get out of here?”

 

Q lit the fuse because his had long since ran out and the explosion was a little bit bigger than planned, although James did land on two people that were coming to dump on scorpions on them and the nurses who ended up caring for them after the mission ended were extra attentive with them so James’ mood was bound to get better.

 

It didn’t. It actually turned into pure anger when his beloved horse – Aston – arrived with two hooves in the metaphorical grave due the long journey in less than stellar conditions and James was almost overcome with the need to strangle the veterinarian.

 

“Thank you for coming here so fast,” Q said quickly and got in between the two when he saw that James was shaking with anger. “And we understand that you are doing your best to help poor Aston, aren’t we?” He asked almost pleadingly as he turned to look to James, his green eyes making it impossible to disagree with him.

 

James gave a stiff nod, the veterinarian clutching his bag in front of his chest since this wasn’t the first time he had to deliver bad news to someone with a gun.

 

“I d-don’t want to get y-your hopes up, b-but...” He trailed off to lick his lips and Q wrapped himself around James to keep him from attacking. “The horse—”

 

“His name is Aston.”

 

Q held on tighter. “The nice man who ran here without the promise of extra pay or anything is trying to tell us something, so let’s remember how a lord is supposed to act and not interrupt him.” He pinched James’ arm for good measure because he didn’t like how much his lips had thinned.

 

And good thing to because James was just getting ready to explain why it was his right to make the bloody bastard beast his own words if he wanted because the horse had had just finished declaring dead had a name and he needed. He was already ranting in his head about how it had been the last gift he got from his parents and how dare he not show him the proper respect?  

 

“He promises that he won’t do it again so please continue,” Q encouraged the slightly trembling man. “Don’t worry; I took all of his weapons away from him before the boat’s captain was done stumbling his way through a weak explanation.”

 

Knowing that, the man lost the tremble in his hands and the stutter and started talking. He never said that he was entirely sure that Aston was going to die because he had cases in which the horse pulled through. James relaxed a little when he heard that but before he could sigh in relief, the man said that it never happened while he was tending to the animal, so Q was back to trying to distract him by pinching him and forcing him to write down everything the doctor said he head might work after which he quickly showed him out, continuing to use himself as a shield.

 

When he came back, James was busy trying to get Silva to bring in more doctors so he quietly took the angrily scribbled notes and made his way to Aston. The horse was apprehensive at first, hitting the ground with his hoof, shaking his head, and neighing at him in between obvious sneezes, but Q knew how to gain his trust.

 

He moved to Aston’s right side, lowered  his head and held out his hand as he slowly approached him. Since Aston was still trying to back away from him, he bent at the waist and stopped walking, holding his hand out until the horse’s curiosity got the better of him and slowly started to move closer to him.

 

“James is really scared for you, you know,” he whispered, gently stroking the groove that ran down the top of his muzzle, getting him to relax. “I’m afraid that he will end everyone that came into contact with you if you die and looking at how kind your eyes are, I’ll understand him and maybe even unofficially lend him a helping hand.”

 

Aston leaned his head against Q and crouched down, showing that he fully trusted him and that he was too tired to stand anymore. “You’re a good, strong boy, and I’ll help you pull through this,” Q whispered again, rubbing his face against Aston’s.

 

Having worked a lot in the past with horses, Q recognized some of the supposed cures on the list and added a few more than he knew they worked from personal experience. He had their cook make a tea with coltsfoot, thyme, ginger and honey which he put in Aston’s feed. Their butler had also been kind enough to bring as many thick blankets as they could spare and although at first Aston whined and struggled to get up, thinking that Q wanted to saddle him, he allowed himself to be tugged back down to the ground and for more blankets to be thrown over him.

 

Getting him to eat was an entirely different story. “It’s good for you,” Q insisted, Aston managing to somehow take a single hair of hay and then quickly turned his head to the side and huff. “If you’re this picky, clearly you’re not dying.”

 

It took about half an hour for Q to convince Aston that eating the strange tasting hay was a good idea and he decided to spend that first night in the stable with him, sure that James would consider his quiet nature and ability to hide what he was really thinking as annoying and that would cause him to be even more volatile than he already was.

 

In reality, his absence did that. It didn’t have anything to do with the fact that Q was off somewhere not giving a damn about his problems as that was his right and he didn’t expect the man to care about the same things as he did, but it had everything to do with how much he had lost himself to his fear and the darker it got outside, the more active his imagination was.

 

“I’m going to look for Q,” he told the butler in lieu of what he wanted to have for breakfast.

 

“I believe I can shorten this mission for you, sir, as young Lord Q is currently in the state stables with your… Ah, with Aston,” he quickly caught himself as all good butlers should, but James was already out the door by the time he was done.

 

There was something about how Q looked in the in the warm light of his lantern, hay stuck in his hair, glasses deposited on a ballot, head nestled on the attentive Aston’s neck. Everything looked like one of the old paintings he had in his main library and, just like with those, he could help but reach out and touch.

 

A pleasant jolt of _something_ passed through him when his fingers came into contact with Q’s cheek and he was surprised at just how soft his skin was. Mesmerized and already addicted, he wanted to feel more – and really, who wouldn’t? He now more than understood all the women who just kept on caressing his face and pressing it in their bosoms – but it wasn’t _proper_.

 

“Not dead yet,” he grumbled, lazily opening one eye as he used James’ hand to scratch his face – so soft; oh, so soft – Aston neighing to get James’ attention. “Neither is he, so please stop terrorizing the town.”

 

His argument about how he was not doing anything of the sorts was abandoned even before he started due to Q’s light snores and, instead, James decided to pretty much cuddle up next to him – surely he was cold despite feeling warm, or else why would he be curled up in a ball like that?

 

Aston didn’t wake up feeling perfect – like Q did – but his coughing and sneezing had subsides somewhat and he did seem to have more energy. In fact, it would take ten weeks for Aston to step onto the train and then one more week until someone rode him, and that someone ended up being Q because he had had it with how restless the poor horse had become.

 

“How can you be someone’s knight in tarnished armour if you don’t have a horse?” Q teased as he had Aston trot circles around him – which was another surprise in it of itself as he had never trained him to do that.

 

“That’s ‘shining armour’,” James lovingly corrected  him, pressing his forehead against Aston’s when he came to a halt next to him.

 

Q stuck his tongue at him. And continued to tease. “I know what I said, my lord. But keep in mind that in order for armour to shine all the time, it has to never be used in battle. So I do prefer my knights in the tarnished kind.”

 

Chuckling, James jumped on Aston, grabbed the reins from Q, pressing him against his chest as he started to ride towards the nearest town. “One dusty knight coming up for my favourite partner.”

 

“I’m your only partner.”

 

And that was how he wanted things to remain, reason for which his extremely good mood lasted for only about a week when they received a new mission and all the horrible outcomes flooded back in James’s mind while reading the file of their insane female target.

 

After everything was over and done with, Q decided that he had enough of the man’s sour mood. “Oh, for the love of—James, the woman was nicknamed ‘the praying mantis’ for a very good reason.” And, of course, he misunderstood the reason why he was sulking, but James felt a little bit better knowing that Q paid enough attention to him to know when something was off. “We had to crash in on your party time before that hidden lummox crashed your head in.”

 

He understood that and he was thankful for that, but James felt too ashamed to correct him, so he let the younger man scold him and try to make him feel better by dragging him to all the special saloons in the towns that their train stopped or they were outside a mission. On the other hand, Silva caught on to that and ended up with a black eye for implying that the reason he was acting so glum was because Q had eyes only for him.

 

“You’re in the Wild West, Lord Bond, so what gets the British knickers in a twist is more than normal and mundane in our mining communities,” Silva spat at him. “Q’s smart enough not to huff or judge so there’s really no reason for you to hide—”

 

“You best be careful with your next words or else the next time we see each other, the sun will be rising as we count the ten steps we’re supposed to take while duelling,” James interrupted him, fisting his shaking hand. He might not have been able to protect his partner’s life, but he would defend his honour.

 

Silva did not flinch, but his good eye narrowed even as his other one became redder and puffier. “Are you challenging me to a duel for Q?”

 

James snapped and rushed towards him, landing a kick in his gut before he was forced to stop by Q suddenly spawning between them, arms wrapped around Silva’s head. “What the bloody hell is going on here?” He demanded, shaking a little as he struggled not to look at the iron tipped boot that was hovering way too close to his nose for his liking.

 

“Best not to open that can of worms,” Silva answered for James, pushing the still fuming man away as Q helped him back up on his feet. “I think 11 months away from the dreary UK and in the dry west of this fine, rugged land, might have been a bit too much for our Lord Bond over here.”

 

It was clear that he had guts because Q was still between the two of them and the only reason why James wasn’t snatching him by the overly large shirt and throwing him over his shoulder was out of respect for his partner – and also because Q could now take him down without fighting dirty.

 

“Pretty sure that James prefers the lawless west over the stuffy court,” Q muttered and slowly blew in Silva’s eye. “Although we have been doing mission after mission that had nothing to do with our actual goal recently, so maybe you can get Washington and London to give us a week off?”

 

“If you’re asking me that today of all days, I can’t say no, now can I?” Silva cryptically said and squeezed Q’s shoulders after which he leaned to the side a bit to look James directly in the eyes. “Although I will give you your actual birthday gift during dinner if your partner didn’t prepare anything better?”

 

How could he when he just found out that Q’s birthday was today? Out of all the questions he bombarded the other with, how could he forget the most important one? And what the bloody hell kept happening with the file he now requested every time they were next to a telegraph, including when they were being chased or shot at? London always confirmed receiving in request and sending the file, but James never got it.

 

James took a deep breath and forced a smile on his lips. “I figured he might have gotten sick of seeing my mug first thing in the morning outside all those ladies that befriend us on the previous night, so part of my gift to him is getting out of his hair.” That should give him enough time to find Q a decent gift since women, thermal retreats, and casino trips on him were already passé.

 

Q arched his eyebrow, hands resting on his hips. “Silva, can you make it so that our time off starts right now?”

 

The worm bowed and the need to step on his head increased. “For today, I will make sure that your wish is our superiors’ command.” Bloody grinning bastard was beginning to have those reasonably white and straight teeth kicked in.

 

His anger aside, the loud and clear message was received. “I’ll give you your gift at Hot Lake Hotel when you get tired of witnessing first-hand how snakes with a hidden agenda brownnose lords.”

 

Q clicked his tongue, but since the black-eyed Silva was asked to leave and not him, James was counting this as a win. Five minutes later, when Q was energetically tossing shirts in two of his bags and asking for a horse to be saddled, he re-categorized that win as a ‘complete and total loss, but your partner took pity on you and held back from embarrassing you in front of your current greatest enemy’.

 

“I can leave whenever you want me if you need some more time alone with someone,” Q said and winked before moving on to weaponizing him. “And if you don’t want me to come at all, you can—”

 

“Come as fast as you can,” James interrupted him and undid Q’s cravat, causing the man to gasp and freeze, his green eyes widening. “Is the reason why you always show up as costumed as the lowest of the low because you’re terrible with these things?”

 

His heart starting to beat again, Q swatted the other’s hands away. “People tend to ignore those who are drunk and covered in dirt which makes things a lot easier for me, so my inability to properly tie that silk nose around my neck doesn’t really matter in the end.” He looked at James in the mirror, a grin spreading on his lips. “Plus, do you really want me to look my best for meeting Silva?”

 

Narrowing his eyes, James tried to pounce on him, but Q easily stepped out of the way and then used a book – it was amazing that the man could still do things that surprised him even after almost a year – to smack him upside the head. Of course that gave James ample time to elbow him in the stomach hard enough to bring him to his knees so he could then start to ruffle his hair and try to ruin his clothing.

 

Yes, he was aware that Q could just get new clothes and that he was going to be long gone by the time he actually met that worm, but for now he was the younger man’s main focus, he was the one tickling him and making him laugh, it was his name the other—

 

James stopped suddenly and moved away from Q as if he was a bag full of TNT whose fuse had all just burned up. “I’ll see you at the Hotel, Q. Try not to let that leech attach those lips of his so hard to your ass that he ends up following to the hotel.”

 

“Only if you promise not to blow the hotel up while I’m not there,” Q sing sang as he pushed James out of his own room and off the train. “See you in two days.”

 

Only, he didn’t and as the third day came to an end without so much as a dove to let him know that everything was okay or that he needed to have Silva surgically detached from himself, James cancelled the rest of his stay rode away in the middle of the night.

 

He got ambushed twice on his way to the train station and given how determined they were and the fact that a fancy coach was ignored in favour of trying to chase him down with the second group, it was obvious that someone was targeting him specifically. That, in turn, meant that something definitely happened to Q either before he left or on his way to the Hotel.

 

Once in town and after checking to see if he had a train that would get him to home base faster than a horse – the bridge used to connect his town to where he had to go had been conveniently blown up – if how much he was going to have to pay to rent a horse as his was way too exhausted to be of any use – five mares, all pregnant, and an exhausted stallion – he held back from having a meltdown in favour of a little pit stop at the sheriff’s office where he hoped to get some information and help.

 

The sheriff was less than helpful or happy to be awoken in the middle of the night. “You seriously want me to give you a number of people attacked by robbers or Indians in the last three days?”

 

“I believe I made that more than clear, yes,” James said as calmly as he could, although he was already playing with his main gun.

 

The sheriff snorted. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I send you to a place that owns a working clock? Because I think you need that more than—”

 

James easily picked the short man up by his unbuttoned shirt and gave him a good shake before slamming him into a wall, only to release him and when the deputy cocked what sounded like a shotgun behind him. “Check my inner right pocket and you’ll find proof that I outrank this entire town,” he seethed.

 

“Look, I don’t know what kind of lord you are back on your island, Sir Accent, but really think for a minute about what you want me to do and ask again,” the sheriff said calmly, making it more than clear that this was not his first roadshow when it came to people throwing around their titles or positions and demanding things.

 

That aside, Q would say that the end of the world had arrived because James did as he was instructed from the get-go and quickly came to the conclusion that all he was doing was wasting precious time as people rarely reported being robbed either because they didn’t make it or because they were much too shook up to want to spend the rest of the day effectively wasting their time.

 

“Tell me that you at least have a fast horse that I could use,” James all but pleaded, groaning when the sheriff bit back a laugh. “Then I need you two to do what you do best and _not_ catch a horse thief.” He easily backhanded the deputy before the man could even grunt an order for him to stop and the sheriff watch in mild amusement as he picked out the youngest horse he found in front of the full saloon and rode away, unbothered by all the guns going off behind him.

 

He rode for half a day until the next major town and the reason why he got there so fast was because he got attacked four more times and each time, got himself a new horse. He also got most of his suit ripped, lost four of the five guns Q had hidden in said suit, he was barefoot because he had been tied up twice and needed the sweet escape kits built into his very expensive boots, he assumed he had two broken fingers on his right hand from punching too many guys, and he was pretty sure that he was so pale from all the blood loss that if he were up against a wall and stripped him naked, he’d be lost to the world.

 

His ass was also numb, but that was the least of his problems especially since he was quite thankful for not being able to feel more pain coming from yet another part of his body – he was even more thankful for that when he ended up having to hide between logs because he no longer had money or anything to identify himself with.

 

He breathed a sigh of relief when his eyes finally landed on _their_ train, mostly because it was not burning and still in one piece, but the closer he got to the door, the more dread he fell. It was dark which was usual for this hour because he’d always find Q comfortably nestled in his softest blanket on the sofa in their lounge with a good book and a hot cup of chamomile tea.

 

There was also the complete silence from the direction of the first car, but James really didn’t need anything to confirm that not only something terrible had happened, but that this was also a trap.

 

A trap which he was more than happy to walk into if he could get to Q.

 

So in the train he went and he fought off as many of the men that were waiting for him as he could before being knocked out by the third hit over his head and the second he woke up tied up in a semi-dark empty room, a rooster crowing into the distance, he began struggling and making torture plans for everyone involved in this.

 

The second he dropped the rope touched the ground, the lights came on. “ _I expected a member of the Bond family to understand another’s need for more._ ” The voice James heard was not at all like he had imagined it to be. “ _Cat got your tongue, foolish lord?”_

 

Shocked as he was that the Devil sounded just like a normal human being, his voice returned to him for one purpose. “What did you do to my partner?”

 

“ _Business kept me away from him, so I didn’t do anything_ ,” the devil said innocently, amusement clear in his voice. “ _I can’t say the same for my lieutenant though and he did promise to treat him as I would have I been there._ ”

 

James kicked the door while the bastard laughed echoed in the rooms, ducking and rolling just in time to dodge bullets and then grabbed one of his assailants and turned him into a shield against the others – a literal shield as no one cared that they were shooting someone who worked with them and seemed to hope that their bullets would eventually at least nick him.

 

He threw his right hand forward, expecting his last hidden gun to shoot out, but he learned via bullet to his palm that these bastards actually had a brain and they had done a very good job at removing everything that he could have used to defend himself – and he only realized when he stepped on something sharp that they had also taken his shoes off even though he no longer had anything in them.

 

But that didn’t matter. His pain could be ignored until he got—

 

“ _The Boothroyd whelp will die if you don’t play nice.”_ Like a magic spell, his words froze James in his spot. “ _That’s a good Lord,_ ” the bastard mocked him and the shooting stop. “ _Now drop the body and go through the door on your right_. _If you want your partner to suffer no more damage than he already might have.”_

 

Shaking with anger and biting the inside of his cheeks to keep his mouth shut, James did as he was asked. “I’m not one to be beaten, you know. And neither is Q,” he threatened, the bite of his words lessened by the sight that greeted him beyond the door.

 

Surprise wasn’t exactly the right word he would use to describe what he felt seeing Silva grin at him from behind a large window as something had been off with the bastard from day one, but the air had definitely been knocked out of his lungs and his still heart dropped into his stomach when he realized that the hunched figure in the chair was Q.

 

“Come closer, don’t be shy,” Silva said, grabbing a fistful of Q’s hair and yanking his head back to make James obey him. “You see, I’m afraid his eyesight might have gotten a little bit damaged when one of my boys hit him in the face with the butt of his shotgun and he might have a hard time seeing you if you insist on standing so far away from us.”

 

James backhanded one of the hyenas that was also poking him in the back with his shotgun and easily lifted him above his head, fully intending to use him to break the glass and maybe, if he got lucky enough, he’d severely injure Silva, but not kill him. “If you’re so worried about that, then why don’t I remove this—?”

 

“Remember that I have his life in my hands,” Silva interrupted him and brandished a sharp knife that he pushed up against Q’s neck and although James did not need any more goading in dropping the would-be battering ram like the trash it was, Silva obviously fed on misery and proceeded to slowly drag the knife around Q’s already bruised face. “Though it might not seem like it, I would hate finding myself forced to further damage this pretty face of his.” He pushed the tip of the knife in Q’s cheek when James took a step forward, his lips twisting into a deranged smile as he ran his tongue over them. “But I will if you keep moving.”

 

“He’s just going to kill us in the end, so why play nice?” Q croaked, terrifying James by winking at him right before head-butting Silva hard enough to push him to the ground.

 

James did not need to be promoted in starting to fight those around him, reusing his earlier tactic of turning on unfortunate sucker into his human shield while also trying to block all the bullets from hitting the panel.

 

“That window is of my design, which means that their weapons won’t do anything to it,” Q shouted, and then threw himself while still in his chair over Silva, effectively knocking him out.

 

On his part of the room, James made quick work of the remaining lackeys and then attempted to break the glass panel with his shoulder only for Q to simply push it to the side from his end.

 

“You could have done that from the start and spare me even more pain,” James grumbled, openly limping towards him, relief washing over him. “Is there anything left of that chair that I could break on him after he wakes up?”

 

“We’re still dead centre in enemy territory,” Q pointed out, flinching when James’ touched his face. “How about you just hover around me until I’m no longer covered in bruises and cuts?”

 

But James was overwhelmed for his need to hold his partner and feel his heartbeat so he pulled him into a tight hug. “I’ll be your personal servant until you’re fully healed, but let me have this,” he promised when he heard a few bones crack and Q groan. He’d also come up with a code and a method in which they’ll always know if either one of them was in danger even if they were states apart and if he was lucky enough, maybe even convince Q to go back to the UK after he was fully healed.

 

“Whatever’s going through that thick head of yours, you can forget it,” Q said as he finally wrapped his arms around him. “Also, both of us know that this is the silence before the storm, so we really need to get out of here.”

 

Q’s speech started to get slurred towards the end and James’s felt his head starting to spin as the room suddenly tilted to the right and both of them fell to the ground, a thick fog spreading above them. Their ears started to hurt as a slow, steady drum sound got louder and no matter how hard either one of them tried to move, their muscles simply weren’t getting the proper orders.

 

“Look at what a mess you made, Lord Bond,” the devil spoke, a bird-like creature with a white face and round, glassy eyes appeared above him for a moment before talons dug in his cheek and forced his head to the side just so he could see Q getting kicked in the chest and face until his eyes rolled in the back of his head and he passed out. “You’ll be passing out in a much more pleasant way since you are still a lord even if you do mix up with the commoners,” _it_ promised, lightly slapping James’ face before pushing a cloth to his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

Truth be told, Q wanted to ditch Silva and leave to Hot Lake with James right away. Not because he wanted to spend the man’s money or see what gift he had gotten him – he knew that to be a lie not only by James’ tell-tale brown furrow, but also because the man was still in the dark about when his birthday was since they never talked about it and that file he kept requesting was never received – but because Silva set off all the alarms in his mind since the first second he saw him.

 

Of course, Q was put off by more than just the libidinous vibes the other gave. He seemed to always be in the shadows when there was no mission, watching and studying them, doing his best to either ruin their fun, or force his presence on them. On the missions he did tag along – against their wishes and will, mind you – he was little to no help as he was mostly the one who was caught first or who blew their cover and when he wasn’t the mandatory third wheel, he still popped out of nowhere just to rain on their parade or to kill whoever they thought to be a link to their actual target – indirectly, by accident, or to cause them to freak out so much that they didn’t have any other choice but to kill them.

 

But alas, his current gut instinct told him to accept Silva’s dinner offer and that it would be for the best to let James relax on his own for a day until he worked out all the stress he had accumulated over the past few months even if that meant that he’d probably arrive at the hotel just as every male within twenty miles were getting ready to burn him for getting all of their women to either sleep with him or think about sleeping with him.

 

“Oh my God, I’m going to end up either putting out a fire or riding all the way to Mexico,” Q groaned, hiding his head in the palms of his hands.

 

“I’m sorry, I missed that,” Silva said softly in his ear, looking somewhat apologetic as he pulled a glass of whiskey closer to the lethargic Q. “Ah, it would be better if I apologized for not noticing earlier just how much stress you are under, wouldn’t it?”

 

Q let out a strained chuckle, shaking his head as he did so. “It’s quite alright, Silva. One week should be more than sufficient for me to fully relax and I’ll leave for James’ hotel—”

 

“You’re really close to the Lord,” Silva interrupted, drumming his fingers next to Q’s hand on the table. “Maybe a bit too close? For you Brits, I mean.”

 

Those words triggered something that Q had pushed in the back of his mind and did his best to bury behind countless blocks of new memories. He tried his best to suppress the fear that he was drowning and not to show that, but the hold on his glass was still too tight and it cracked. Silva was the first to notice and he jumped up like a shard had just embedded itself in his hand and he didn’t let down until a semi-sober doctor had been dragged out of not quite his bed to assure him that yes, his companion’s hand would not be amputated – provided the cut was properly taken care of in the following days.

 

“I feel as if I crossed a line,” Silva started after all the commotion around them had died down and the doctor had passed out next to them, “and for that, I wanted to apologize.”

 

“No, no, no line crossed,” Q quickly assured him, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m just very… Well, you yourself have said that I’ve been under a lot of stress lately and the piano is really off tune and the alcohol isn’t mixing all that well with the supposed food we got.” He started to pat his stomach, pulling a face. “I get horrible cramps, you see, and the pain is so unbearable that certain glasses get broken.”

 

Silva nodded, but did not look convinced at all. “Then allow me to apologize for the bad choice of restaurant.”

 

Dreading to spend even a second more in Silva’s presence, Q tried to play up the whole sickness, but it didn’t fly as the man insisted to personally see him back to the train and get the supposedly best doctor the USA had that just happened to be in town.

 

The ‘I’m suddenly feeling better’ excuse didn’t work either and to make sure that Q didn’t bolt away, Silva linked their arms together and basically dragged him in a carriage that was waiting for them right outside the saloon, his gun poking him in the side.

 

After practically tossing Q in, he was quick to lock the door behind himself and close all the window curtains. “The cold air and unnatural lights are sure to make you feel more ill.” Silva’s hissed voice and slow movements made Q think of a snake and the second he heard a metallic thud come from under his seat, he realized that he was the poor field mouse that was going to end up as its dinner.

 

“I’ll assume that the reason all the other agents before us met an untimely death was because there is a traitor in our midst,” Q accused as soon as the carriage started to move, jumping from the humming bench next to Silva, smiling as he crossed his legs.

 

Silva looked like someone had slapped him for a fraction of a second before he relaxed and leaned back, chuckling. “Though new in this world of mine, I will still dare to ask if you could name me just a single organization that is without traitors.”

 

Challenge acknowledged and met, but Q wasn’t going to pull back even if he felt as if Death itself was breathing down his neck. “The legal systems from both our countries are out as James and I dealt with a sheriff who was more than willing to turn a blind eye towards the injustice that this land’s true natives suffered through—”

 

“That’s a hobby most sheriffs have, so spare me the speech so many preachers shout and do go on explaining how perfect and jolly old England can lack perfect honesty in the legal department.”

 

The horses picked up in speed even as they entered a long curve, Q grabbing hold of the leather handle above the locked door to keep from slipping closer to Silva. “I would hate to bore you with unnecessary hobbies that our constables have.” Long ago, when he was a lad that barely saw over bar counters despite pushing himself up on his toes, his mother had warned him that his inability to keep his mouth shut and let go of things would be the death of him – and, alas, he was a slow learner that loved to verbally slap those who had insulted him in any way or form. “However, I don’t mind listening to others talk, especially if it’s about things that might save the lives of my partner and me.”

 

“That type of conversation is bound to make you sicker than you already are,” Silva warned, almost sneering at Q’s glare. “But if that doesn’t bother you, maybe we should discuss more important things, such as how certain parties would react if they were to ever find out about your—”

 

“So you’re the traitor,” Q concluded, subtly starting to lock pick the door.

 

“Now Q, that’s not…” He started only for Q to arch his eyebrow at him and silently order him to try again. “That is the most ridiculous thing and I have no idea how you could…” He trailed off again, this time slouching his shoulders as it was obvious he gave up. “Confronting someone like this, in their territory, without any real weapons, and when your trigger-happy overprotective partner is miles away, is not your best idea.”

 

The lock was more complicated than expected, but it still paled against Q’s abilities – and against how easily Silva was distracted. “If I were to die, James will hunt you down.”

 

“Accidents h—”

 

“Are you sure you want that to happen while you were keeping me company?” Q interrupted him, covering the sound made by the first part of the lock giving out with a snort. “He wouldn’t care if my body was found in the middle of the desert with one of all weapon types in the world sticking out of my chest; he’d question why you’re still in one piece.”

 

Almost a year ago, he wouldn’t have had these strong believes about his partner. He saw the James from a year ago was a nobleman who saw the commoner by his side as nothing more than a pet, a project to prove that he was not like all the others that were born with a silver spoon in their mouths, something that could easily be replaced if something happened – and to be honest, he didn’t really care about that James either. Now, however… Hell and Heaven would be moved if either one of them was in danger.

 

“Why didn’t I send a telegram to let him know that I was coming like we usually do? Why weren’t we officially informed about the danger in that sector?” He continued to threaten the other, slipping the lock pick back in his pocket before moving his hand to tap his chin. “Why did he make it in one piece while I was attacked and why didn’t we hear any rumours? And most importantly, why are you still alive and in one piece even though he’s been near you for almost a minute?”

 

In Q’s opinion, Silva looked best when he felt that he felt truly bested. The way his nostrils flared, the deep crease in his forehead caused by his frown, eyes narrowed with pure, unadulterated anger was more than perfect and it was something that he constantly wanted to see – though he hadn’t forgotten that cornered animals would attack with all its might, so his defences were still up.

 

“You are very smart,” Silva said evenly. “Not only for someone of your upbringing, but for the mundane cattle that cannot see beyond their own worthless little lives and,” he wrapped his arm around Q’s middle and pulled him against his side, sneering down at him, “ _that_ is what makes you truly breathtakingly beautiful.”

 

Q wasted no time in pushing his palm right up against Silva’s face, turning his head away –although he did remember quite a few of James’ companions doing the same thing when they wanted a little more attention and a little less gentleman, so this could backfire. “I do believe I owe James an apology for naming him the king of bad pickup lines.”

 

“And I believe that Bond owes you an apology for being so blind,” Silva continued to mutter, rubbing his face against Q’s palm.

 

“And that was my favourite hand,” Q grumbled, pushing Silva away at the same time as he relieved him of one of his guns. “I suppose that you’re eyes are wide open?”

 

“As long as you are in front of me, I won’t dare to so much as blink.” He pulled out his other gun and cocked it. “With us, you can do so much more than rely on the pity of someone like Bond.”

 

“Like rely on you and your puppet master’s pity, right?” Q shot back and used his own head to knock the gun out of Silva’s, pointing his own right back at him. “Sorry, not sorry, but I am loyal to what I believe in my cause and to the people that truly fight on my side, so I will turn down your disgusting offer down.”

 

The carriage had slowed down, meaning that they were nearing a rather sharp turn and Q had kept track of all the twists they took and of how much and how fast they travelled, knowing almost without a doubt that there was no ravine, gap or abyss near them that would turn his quick exit into a quick death.

 

He ducked and rolled, happy that he stopped when he slammed into a tree despite the fact that every time the wind blew even a little, he felt like his whole body was on fire and that the world was out of focus due to his glasses were cracked. The world was also still spinning quite fast to the point of making him feel nauseous, but he didn’t have time for trying to fully regain his senses especially since his hearing was still good so the order for the carriage to stop as well as the way the two horses neighed in pain at how harshly the reins had been pulled wasn’t missed.

 

A gun was discharged, but only once before Silva’s shouts were heard again, this time ordering them to either stop or… Well, Q had managed to get up before the sentence was finished and he was currently too busy running in a zig zag without bumping into other trees and hoping to have enough energy to make it back to the train so he could send James a telegram, letting him know what was up to care what Silva wanted from his men.

 

If he were dealing only with the Silva, this wouldn’t be any different from any other mission as he was your run of the mill crazy maniacal man with too much money in his pockets, not enough time spent with his head out of his ass, and so sure of his main plan that he didn’t bother to come up with a backup one, but that wasn’t the case.

 

The true mastermind was Lord Blofeld’s – Q did not understand why he was still allowed to carry the title, but whatever; the intricate life and rules of those with titles and blueblood went beyond his capacity of understanding – whose file drew the picture of a cold calculating bastard that had no quarrels killing his own supposed loved ones if it meant the advancing of his plan, so Q was sure that there were countless other unpleasant surprises awaiting for him just around the corner.

 

With the knowledge deeply embedded in his mind, once he finally found himself back in town and thirty buildings away from the train that he would turn into a moving fortress – or just a fortress until backup arrived in case someone had tampered with the engine or the wheels – he ripped his clothes more, covered himself in dirty, ditched his fancy jacket, and kept to the shadows as much as he could, playing the role of a drunken hobo whenever someone paid him attention for too long.

 

It took him about an hour to reach the train, but the uninvited guest that had made himself at home in their lounge made him curse his luck. “Why couldn’t you have been the type who’d send five more pawns after us before making his presence known?” He asked in a groan, hitting the man hiding on his right with the door and quickly turned to the one on his left, shot him in his tight and turned him into a human shield as he pressed his back up against the window he had recently finished toying with.

 

“Because then I’d be boring,” Blofeld said simply and shot his own man right between the eyes like he was nothing more than an empty bottle on a fence. “I promise not to shoot you, so you can drop that useless heap of bones.”

 

Q just held on tighter to the dead body, face scrunching up with disgust at what was happening to it. “I wouldn’t have made it this far in life if I believed everything anyone told me.”

 

Blofeld nodded approvingly and sat himself down on the sofa, a woman – that was exactly the type which James would instantly start hitting on despite the deadly air that she had around her – coming out from the other room with two cups of tea. “Silva tends to get bored very fast of the toys your Queen sends over, but it was different this time.”

 

“I’m not interested in having his conversation,” Q hissed, eyes darting around the room in hopes of finding something that would turn this situation in his favour.

 

“You cower before me, covered in dust and blood, your clothes nothing but dirty rags, and you think that I really care what you’re actually interested in?” Blofeld asked with clear disgust. “Did all that time spent in so many royal beds disillusioned you so much that you forgot your real position in life, common bed warmer?”

 

Q had spent most of his life getting mocked and called names and when he was younger, he’d often bury himself in his mother’s skirts and bawl his eyes out. But his skin grew thicker over the years so words meant nothing to him anymore and all he could do at those petty insults was snort.

 

“I can always resort to sticks and stones,” Blofeld warned and threw the cup at Q’s head, shaking with anger for a moment because he couldn’t even get so much as a flinch out of him before fully relaxing and accepting the second cup of tea. “Though I do think it would have more effect if Lord Bond was on the receiving end of that.”

 

The world stilled as they glared at each other for a few moments and then it exploded in motion. Q dropped his shield and whipped out his gun and pointed it at Blofeld while his henchwoman threw herself in front of him, forcing Q to alter his plan. He bent his wrist a little just as he squeezed the trigger and felt pure pleasure when he heard the grunt of pain that Blofeld let out when the bullet embedded itself in his leg, but his madness wouldn’t let him buckle down just because of that.

 

He flung the other cup at Q, then the silver tray, and then proved how strong he was by picking up the coffee table without breaking a sweat. Blofeld didn’t get the chance to smash it over his head since the room had filled with his other footmen who quickly tackled Q.

 

“No, no, no!” Blofeld raged, slapping whoever got close to him. “I do not need anyone’s help with a commoner!”

 

“Your men have other ideas,” Q shouted from under the pile, unable to stop himself from stinging the man even if that ended in him getting knocked out.

 

When he came to, he expected to find himself tied up in a cave somewhere or in the basement of some dilapidated saloon or even tied to some train tracks like he had seen a movie picture two months ago just because Blofeld was that type of over the top psychopath, but not to a comfortable chair in a well-decorated room with Blofeld serving him tea.

 

“I think we started off on the wrong foot,” his captor said in a soft voice, holding the cup to Q’s cracked lips. “Come now, don’t be stubborn about this; you’ve been out for an entire day so you are bound to be more than parched.”

 

But Q continued to keep his mouth shut and be obvious in his ignoring. He did not speak a single word or crack a single joke at anyone’s expense, even when it was offered to him on a silver platter. He did not verbally acknowledge any of the fancy and divine-smelling food that he was being offered even if his stomach growled and burned with hunger and he remained impassive to all the other temptations thrown his way.

 

Did Blofeld honestly think that he wanted a noble position that also brought political power to be bestowed on him in whatever insane ruling class he envisioned? And he knew that he was pathetic and cursed by his own heart and tastes, but he would rather die alone than sell his principals in exchange for someone who would pretend to love him for either the sake of their life or for money.

 

The one-sided conversation ended with hot soup poured over his head and with him dragged out of his room by his hair while still tied to the chair after a faceless goon whispered something in Blofeld’s face, but Q knew this wasn’t the last time he’d be forced to put up with his slimy presence and he hoped that the bad news the other received had something to do with James.

 

He was bathed and clothed by a group of women led by the one had had almost killed earlier – he was surprised to make it out of that experience with his skin still on – and then tossed into a cage somewhere dark. The smell of this new room was familiar to him, as was the dull boiling sound and he knew with what he was being tempted even before Silva made his dramatic entrance.

 

“I know more than anyone how cheap the American government is and how high and mighty your royals act,” the latter probably because he had to put up with Blofeld, but Q bit his tongue. “But us…” He trailed off and sighed as he smiled, caressing tall crates that were marked with everything on his secret list of needed equipment. “You’re smart and imaginative—”

 

“And you and your master are a one-trick pony that’s giving me a headache, so give up and shut up already,” Q snapped, continuing to glare even after he was slapped. “A very _boring_ one-trick pony,” he corrected himself, pushing his head forward in anticipation of the slap, knowing that Silva would hold back just because he didn’t want to prove him right.

 

“You’ll either wield before Bond gets here – _if_ he gets here, that is – or not live long enough to regret your lack of self-preservation,” Silva vowed, the way he was playing with a sharp knife acting as a pretty good indicator of what was instore for Q’s future. “Act like the clever boy I know you are and join us.”

 

Q’s answer came in the form of well-aimed spit.

 

“Then so be it.”

 

Now things started to go in the direction Q expected them to go and he wasn’t really happy about that. He was thrown in a dirty cellar deep underground, beaten, threatened to be made to watch as his entire family was slowly killed, beaten with even more brutality when he pointed out that they first had to go to London to find them and that they would probably be the ones who died first, had ice cold water dumped all over him, and then they finally tied him up and started to whip him.

 

He didn’t hold back his screams nor were his insults, ruining his jailers’ fun by claiming the tears were caused by how horrible they were at their jobs. Was that a whip or someone trying to give him a massage? Were they tugging on his hair with the intent of hurting him, or did they secretly want to become barbers and didn’t understand that hair became shorter when something sharp was involved?

 

True, talking became almost impossible after the 20-ish lashes because his throat also hurt and he couldn’t stop sobbing long enough to speak, but he did manage to add injury to insult when he was being dragged in a new room as he managed to knock out one of the men and break another’s leg before he was knocked out again.

 

He sighed when he regained his senses and then groaned when he saw that he was facing Silva once again, still tied to a chair, still without a weapon with which he could rid the world of this stain on itself. “Take me back to the cellar; your henchmen did such a horrible job that I still have some free sports on my back.”

 

Sneering at him, Silva bent down a little and pinched Q’s cheeks as hard as he could. “And I would love nothing more than to right that wrong myself, but business before pleasure and all that.”

 

He turned his chair around – shaking it a little just to see him squirm and flinch in pain every time his back was touched – and insisted on ranting about how amusing it had been to toy with him and James while forcing him to watch them put his ideas and devices to work against them. Silva even had the gall to bust out of jail one of the most insane scientists that had fixated on Q – or rather, his brain – in order to _refine_ some of his inventions.

 

This was supposed to get to him, hurt him in some way as he never hid the fact that he considered his inventions to be his children, but Q soldiered through everything, somewhat comforted by the fact that he knew all the supposed improvements actually worsened the final product and by the fact that he kept hearing terrified whispers and frustrated growls about how James was still free.

 

But Q’s glee didn’t last for long as James did eventually get captured, his heart paining him when he saw just how hurt and tried he looked. He wanted nothing more than to break the glass and wrap his arms around him and offer his bed for a proper rest like he had done countless other times – James would arch an eyebrow and Q would be quick to point out his offer was made since his bed was always full and he thought that was why he was trying to push him off the sofa in the middle of the night while whining about wanting coffee – but they were still in Death’s clutches.

 

Then there was also the fact that he had to keep James from getting himself killed while his brain was taken out of commission by his clear rage and himself from either getting skinned or losing his eyes.

 

“He’s just going to kill us in the end, so why play nice?” Now truth be told to no one but his terrified self, Q was aware that he didn’t always use his head in the right way and since, for a fraction of a second, James looked like someone had sucked out the soul of out him, clearly when he head-butted someone that had a knife to his face and their lives in the palms of his hands was one of those bad times.

 

“That window is of my design, which means that their weapons won’t do anything to it!” He had shouted, continuing to roll with his bad plan and, ignoring the fact that he was feeling like nothing more than a floating head on a body made out of fire, he threw himself in his chair over Silva.

 

He needed more than a moment to regain his composure and not break down and cry – which was more than enough time for James to inflict even more pain on himself, although that wasn’t out of the ordinary – but when they were finally, truly reunited, Q could honestly say that he felt good even if he had to bite down hard on his lower lip to keep himself from screaming in blinding pain when James pulled him in a tight hug.

 

Of course, it didn't last long and Q had expected for something to happen to James before he got to him but in hindsight, a lot more suffering resulted from letting someone think they have everything for a moment and then ripping it from their hands, mocking then as you did so.

 

This time when he woke up, he was blind for the first few minutes and terrified by what he was hearing around him. Little mice squeaking as they scurried over his bare legs, running in fear of the much larger rats that seemed to be hungry if the way their noses twitched was any indication, sobs and moans echoing from somewhere further away from him, the sound of a whip being cracked accompanying them and if before he had managed to wish himself away from his ordeal and block the flashbacks it brought with it because he knew he was alone in there – and thus, his salvation was on its way – now he felt the cold tendrils of fear and desperation making their home in his heart.

 

“Q?” A familiar if raspier than usual voice called out to him in the complete darkness, drowning out the unwanted memories. “Q, you have to wake up now, understand?”

 

He was trying to do just that, thank you very much, but it wasn’t exactly his fault that none of the muscles in his body wanted to collaborate with him. He broke out into a cold sweat by the time he finally got his toes to wiggle – a moment for a sigh of relief was needed after that because he now feared being numb all over than when he knew nothing but pain – and then a bit more time before he finally moved his arms, cursing when he felt himself being weighed down by chains.

 

“Q! Q, are you okay?” James asked in an even more panicked voice, the rattling that came from his chains giving Q feel like his head was about to explode.

 

“I’m chained up and I’m not entirely sure my eyes are still in my skull,” Q said as calmly as he could, instantly getting sea sick when he turned on his side. “Oh God, please don’t let us be on a bloody ship,” he muttered more to himself, scared out of his skin when he felt someone’s hot breath wash over him.

 

“We’re not, we’re not,” James whispered right in his ear, feeling a bit of warmth around his temples before the world got less dark. “I can feel bandages around your face and you smell like you’ve been heavily medicated with what I hope to be nothing more than strong pain killers.”

 

If their hunches were right and Blofeld had truly been behind all the less sane people they met - one had decided that everyone needed to be turned into plants for a true utopia to exist, another was dead sure that every wrong could be righted if the world was reset and they were all turned back into the supposed dirt the first man was made, and yet another was dead sure he could make limbs regrow if people were crossed with worms and starfish - then they had all the reason in the world to be worried.

 

“How weird do you feel right now?” James asked carefully, dragging his hands down Q's body as careful as he could while counting to make sure that nothing was missing or added.

 

His careful ministrations would have been more than welcomed in another circumstance, but all they did now was make Q feel sicker still, the sound of running water doing nothing to alleviate his motion sickness. “I feel as if I am about to vomit,” he warned and pushed James away just in time to avoid hitting him with his stomach’s contents.

 

James did his best to confront him although Q constantly pushing him away and growling to leave him alone made it almost impossible. But James wasn’t about to let Q’s stubbornness make things harder for him than it already was and pushed his face against his back, wrapping his arm around him so he could hug him tightly and rub his stomach, trying to distract him by joking about finally getting to teach him about all the false promises he was supposed to make in a time such as this.

 

Though his intention was good, the outcome was bad as not only did the rocking back and forth made Q sicker, James also found out about the whipping when he realized that Q wasn’t sweating as much as bleeding. “I'll pay him in kind and then some,” James now growled, rubbing down Q's arms. “I'll dip him vinegar after it and then start all over again. Pieces of meat will—”

 

“As enticing as they are, your promises of revenge are not helping me keep what’s left of my stomach inside of myself,” Q interrupted him, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt before feeling around in the darkness for the other's shoulders – he found his face, but James put his own hands over his and there was no getting out of that pleasant and welcomed death grip. “They’ll heal and we’ll be fine.”

 

“His won’t when I’ll be done with him and we always are,” James continued for him, hands sliding down to his chains. “These have to stay, but I promise I’ll force feed them to Blofeld when this is all over, pull them out, and make him eat them again.”

 

James’ plan was to lie in wait and attack whoever opened the door, proudly announcing that he was a firm believer that if he the same thing over and over again, things were bound to go they were supposed to. Q, on the other hand, flicked his nose and reminded him that a problem couldn’t be fixed by repeating past mistakes.

 

To say that James opposed his plan once he heard it wasn’t exactly correct – but if you said James threw a fit that could put a spoiled 5 year old to shame, you’d be more than correct. He didn’t want to act like a model prisoner until a chance presented itself because he knew they already had one and they wasted it. And yes, he was dead sure that Blofeld himself would come down there to get them when he wanted to play, so his plan wasn’t stupid or safe, Q’s was!

 

James went on to say that just because he could make glass that didn’t shatter or clothes that weren’t pierced by bullets, that didn’t mean he could come up with good plans during a mission.

 

Naturally, Q took that as an insult – because if it sounded like one, then that’s what it was – and they fought in hissed whispers and then spent the following hour in sullen silence while holding hands.

 

Going by the long sigh, James would have been the first to crack and apologize in that way of his that tended to make everything worse by adding insult to injury – which Q would have accepted almost instantly because James did that only when he was being honest – but the door opened and they were pulled apart by very jumpy guards before that could happen.

 

Q would have commended them if not for needing a third chance to learn their lesson and for the fact that James managed to bite one of them hard enough to draw blood when he went to separate them. Their stupidity continued to shine through when they rushed to get out of the room instead of turning their weapons on them and Q sighed in frustration as he grabbed onto James’ shirt and forced him to stay put.

 

“Clearly my plan is in play right now, so remember it,” he hissed, feeling James tense up as he did so. “We have no choice.”

 

“Yes we do,” the stubborn man insisted, pushing Q behind him as he smashed one of the more daring henchmen into the floor, cocking his newly acquired weapon. “Imagine how easy it would be for us to get out if we were to use the rest of them,” he said loudly, his lips probably twisting into a grin. “I can easily imagine that none of you are paid enough to lose your life so…” He trailed off when Q’s hand dropped from him, sighing as he slumped down next to him. “But I am aware that we won’t get out of here alive no matter what we do.” He sounded perfectly defeated and he was, but not for the reasons the guards thought.

 

“We’ll be fine,” Q said again while the still trembling guards were extra careful guiding him, both for his sake and for James’.

 

He walked for seventeen minutes, went up four sets of stairs, twenty-two doors guarded by at least two smelly guards each were opened before him, and only twenty-one closed behind him. He knew that the floor beneath the one he currently was on was the ground floor by the fresh smell and lack of draft that would result from any open windows and he stored that knowledge in the back of his mind for when he and James would make their escape attempt.

 

Naturally, he was also planning on destroying at least half of the building they were in and on putting an end to whatever they were working on here. He didn’t know how just yet, but he supposed that if he acted as recklessly as James did, he was bound to get things done – although, the more he was walked around the building, the surer he was that all he’d manage to do was get himself killed and cause a bit of a ruckus that might get his partner enough time to run away and live to avenge another day, which was still good.

 

“I’m terribly saddened by your stubbornness,” Silva started to talk as soon as Q entered a warm room with soft carpeting, the guards forcing him to sit on a comfortable armchair before removing his blindfold. “I admit that I’m still shocked that a commoner—”

 

“Don’t you think you tortured me enough without the use of your voice?” Q interrupted him, quickly giving the room an once-over – small burners scattered around the many tables covered in vials of all sorts of chemicals; perfect.

 

Face contorting in disgust, Silva ignored Q’s whine and continued his rant as deranged evildoers tended to do. “This is precisely why people like you need nobility like me. For all your knowledge and abilities, you are much too naïve to know when to use your mind or when to bend a knee and just drop everything.”

 

“People like you are the reason the French beheaded their nobility,” Q quipped in, looking smug even as one of the guards did not hold back in punching him. “People like him, on the other hand, are the reason why others see themselves as shepherds.”

 

The guard made to smack him again, but he was stopped by Blofeld – or rather, one of Blofeld’s henchmen since the lord seemed to be really adverse to touching those who weren’t of noble birth, something that Q knew he could use to his advantage. “As it’s clear that he won’t help us, I recommend removing his vocal cords if you don’t plan on killing him right away. After all, servants aren’t supposed to be heard.” He toyed a bit with a golden knife he pulled out of his boot, probably hoping to get Q to flinch, tremble, or start to beg for his life, but since Q knew better, he only got a smirk out of him.

 

“I would also suggest castrating him, but I don’t really have to worry about him procreating, do we?” Blofeld pushed, smacking him when Q spat at him. “Just gag—”

 

A small explosion interrupted him and Q was not at all surprised to hear it because of course James would come up with his own plan and outright ignore the one that they had originally settled on – then again, he had done the same thing, so he couldn’t so much as roll his eyes.

 

“All weapons pointed at him and make sure that you don’t all blink at the same time,” Blofeld instructed before making a quick exit, stopping Silva from following him. “Get rid of them or stall them, but don’t you even think about betraying me, Silva.”

 

Silva looked like he was about to shoot someone and since the gunshots were getting closer and Q was the only real shield that he could use, the wounded man’s money were on guard number three who had snickered at pretty much everything. But Silva stilled his hand and took a deep breath, rearranged his suit, and flashed Q a smile.

 

“We could have done so many great things together,” Silva murmured, stuffing a piece of cloth in Q’s mouth. “Let’s hope that the next pair will either die easier or have a lot more brain than you two had and not turn down the easy life.”

 

Q rolled his eyes. He really didn’t think that anyone from that organization had an easy life, not when they had to go to sleep every night knowing that they had tormented and killed so many innocent civilians and if they didn’t so much as waste a single second feeling just the smallest bit of regret, than Q was willing to start believing in a higher power just so he could hope that they would spend the rest of eternity in the deepest, most painful part of hell that Satan and God could create.

 

Fighting was heard just outside and Silva wrestled Q in front of him, pushing the edge of a knife to his neck and signalled, the guards panicking and starting to shoot the door.

 

“Don’t waste your bullets, you idiots!” Silva bellowed, kicking a guard in the back. “Save us the drama and just walk in, Bond. We both know that you really won’t do anything as long as I have your precious Q.”

 

“And we both know what will happen to you if you hurt him,” James growled as the door was slowly pushed open with the passed out guard that he was using as a shield. He wasn’t dumb enough to believe that Silva truly cared about his people and the inevitable outcome bothered him to a point, but the man had tried to kill him multiple times and he was also hoping that at least the other men in the room would have enough of a brain to realize that any one of them could have the exact same fate sometime down the line.

 

Silva arched his eyebrow. “This isn’t exactly a stale mate, Bond. You’re holding something replaceable while I’m…” He trained off, slowly dragging the knife down Q’s neck, licking his lips when he felt him flinch in his arms. “Well, you really can’t do anything to me no matter what I do to him right now.”

 

“Now being the key word,” James growled, squeezing the trigger without hesitation and getting the guard that had attempted to rush him right in the chest. “I have enough bullets for all of you but trust me, I’ll put all of them in you and you still won’t die.”

 

“We all die in the end, Bond, and I’m not foolish enough not to know that I’m nothing more than a simple pawn,” Silva admitted with regret. “But at least I know everything about the important people I worked with.”

 

“I’ll applaud you for being an excellent mole—”

 

“I’m talking about your precious partner right here,” Silva interrupted him, now grinning like a wolf because Q had started to struggle, not caring that his neck was getting cut while James looked like he had been betrayed once again. “Oh, he’s on your side, don’t worry. Although, had he been willing to listen to me, he would have found out that not only don’t care about people like him, but that we’d be willing to help him get revenge. But alas, Q’s really not such a clever boy.”

 

Since James was obviously distracted, one of the guards decided to act, managing to graze his leg before getting killed. “The more you try to distract me, the slower your death will be, so do yourself a favour and release him already,” James demanded once again between gritted teeth, shooting the other guard before he could act and then quickly smacking his human shield over the side of his head just to be sure that he stayed passed out.

 

“Do you still want him even if he likes men as he should women?” Silva asked, shivering in pleasure at how shocked and confused James looked. “You know that shirt of his that he sleeps in? His male lover gave it to him on the night he was caught and convicted for acts of sodomy and darling Q chose to suicidal mission to save himself,” the bastard continued to explain, getting so cocky that he allowed himself to be dramatic in his story telling which in turn permitted Q to jump on his feet and headbutt him straight onto a table covered in liquid that set him on fire the second it got spilled on him, the guard throwing away his gun in favour of trying to put out his boss.

 

James still sat there like a statute while Q wiggled on the ground until he managed to loosen up the rope around his hands and the only reason he didn’t get shot in the back was because he was pulled to the ground, Q making quick work of the would be attacker by throwing Silva’s discarded knife right in his head.

 

The guard that had jumped to Silva’s aid was also screaming in pain, but Q flipped a few more tables to be sure and then dragged James out in the hallway, blocking the laboratory door behind them. He could hear more people coming their way and while he braced himself for a fight that he wasn’t sure he was going to win, the men just continued to run by him, carrying half-filled buckets of water.

 

But even so, Q couldn’t quite breathe a sigh of relief because James had clearly entered a state of shock and the fire was rapidly extending and despite the many people that were trying to put it out, he felt like the flames were nipping at his heels and he couldn’t quite remember how many steps he took until he reached either a door before a staircase or the staircase itself and if those steps were small or big.

 

“I could really use your help,” he hissed at James, rolling his eyes when the man continued to remain silent. Really, couldn’t he have this crisis and feel disgusted after they were out of this inferno? “Come on, Bond!” He insisted. “We’re getting fried here and there are way too many doors. How the bloody hell did you get here?”

 

When James still didn’t say anything, Q slapped him and although he had underestimated his force behind it and sent him into a wall, it did get him to start walking in front of him, shaking his head at a few doors before finally pulling one open and revealing stairs, but that’s as far as his brain worked and he would have tumbled down the stairs if Q didn’t grab his arm – then again, they were both pushed up against the wall by the continuous string of people running up the stairs, so there was a high probability that James wouldn’t have broken anything.

 

Not really having the time, the nerves, or energy to put up a fight with the desperate henchmen, Q decided to risk it and hopped on the railing, pulling James behind him and helping him wrap his arms around his middle before starting to slide down.

 

By some miracle they got to the bottom floor safe and sound, taking out about five people that realized who they were by kicking them in the neck before narrowly avoiding the huge chandelier that came crashing down just as they were about to make a run towards the large, ornate doors that were clearly the exit. But the windows were large and clear and Q did not really need to think too much before he started to throw every piece of furniture towards them, crying out in frustration whenever they bounced back at him.

 

“How the bloody hell… _When_ the bloody hell would they have had time to install this?” He asked no one in particular as he tugged on his own hair because this was clearly an improved version of his bloody bullet-proofed glass and he just realized that he hadn’t found his notebooks anywhere and he had a distinct feeling that wherever Blofeld had disappeared to, his projects were with him.

 

As this was not the time to worry about something like that, Q decided to try and break the window with his own body, but a cannon ball flee through one just as he had finished backing up in order to gain momentum.

 

“We don’t have all day, boy,” a stranger ordered as he hopped in and grabbed his arm, easily throwing him out the window.

 

“Don’t try anything funny,” another stranger said as five US soldiers pointed their guns in his general direction, one even firing at his feet when he tried to go towards James’ apparently unconscious body that landed a few feet away from him.

 

“I’m bleeding and I still have some rope around me,” Q pointed out, tapping his foot. “Do I really look like someone who was working for Blofeld or maybe like one of his blood victims?”

 

Thankfully not only was he dealing with people that actually owned a brain, but their servants from the train quickly jumped in to vouch for him and Q didn’t know if he felt more relieved to see them being still alive and mostly okay or James being helped up from the ground and led next to them so a doctor that was still dressed in his pyjamas could tend to his wounds.

 

Q watched in silence as everyone able – soldier and henchmen alike – struggled to put out the fire, forcing a smile every time he felt one of the servants hug him and thank God that he was still alive, trying his hardest not to think of what was instore for him in the near future.

 

***

A week had passed since Blofeld’s main mansion in America got destroyed and while it was proved that Silva was not only the mole, but dead as well, neither of the them had celebrated or even said anything to each other.

 

The US government put them up in a decent looking inn, unofficially acknowledging all that they have done by covering their expenses for everything they ate and drank and while Q kept to his room, James focused on throwing money left and right to get the train rebuilt and replace all the possessions he had lost during the day and spent most of the nights walking around town, not quite knowing what he was looking for.

 

It became painfully obvious to everyone – five days after the train was back in action – that they were avoiding each other, what with James eating all of his meals alone in the common room without making a fuss about it or throwing one of his usual dramatic fits while Q either nibbled in the stables or his room, but the main butler had made it clear that if anyone was going to poke their noses in this, he would personally show them to the door and kick them out of the train even if it was still moving.

 

Not that his threat kept them from gossiping. “It’s definitely because Master Q stole one of Master James’ ladies,” one of the stablemen told one of the stokers within the butler’s hearing rage, the older man’s eye twitching when the secondary conductor joined in.

 

“No, you got it totally wrong. Q would never do that because he’s obviously in—”

 

“Have you gentlemen checked the schedule to see who’ll spend the night on the train and who’ll sleep in the city?” The butler interrupted them, looking disapprovingly at everyone until things became so uncomfortable that they didn’t even bother to pretend that they remembered they had other things to do and just jumped out the stable door. “I mean seriously! Grown men gossiping like young school girls,” he huffed, dusting off his uniform before turning around and getting startled James suddenly being behind him.

 

“Please bring our guests some tea,” the man asked, holding his hand up to stop him from going right away. “ _Just_ tea, mind you, and please keep them distracted with tales of bravery and whatnot while I get Q out of his room; I’d hate for them to get bored in case that takes longer than expected.”

 

“Right away, sir,” the butler said with a huge smile on his lips. “And good luck, sir. Lord Q has turned down his favourite tea yet again today.”

 

Grim news as far as everyone was concerned, but James wasn’t going to let that discourage him from his ultimate goal so with a deep breath and a silent prayer, he made his way to Q’s room and knocked gently on the door.

 

“I’m really okay without the tea, but thank you for asking again,” Q said in a muffled voice tone.

 

James pushed his ear really close to the door, narrowing his eyes when he thought he heard Q letting out a shaky sight that could have also been a suppressed sob. “Q, can you let me in?”

 

“Oh...” James held his breath as he heard the sheets rustle. “No, not really.”

 

“Q—”

 

“I have a cold,” Q interrupted him, faking a cough. “Now go away and leave whatever doctor you’re thinking about out of this.”

 

It was clear that James had a few options on how he should deal with this whole situation. On one hand, he could try to knock again and again and hope that Q got so sick of it that he’d actually answer the door and not use one of his nifty inventions to knock him out or send him flying out of the train. Then again, he hadn’t seen Q in forever after finding out what he did and he wasn’t exactly the most patient person in the world, so breaking down the door was the only real thing he could do – he did consider lock picking, but knowing Q, he’d either pass out in a painful way the second he inserted the pick in, or he’d suddenly find himself in a tree outside.

 

He threw himself against the door with a little more force than necessary and smacked his head against the wall before falling sideways right on top of Q. “Your bed is not comfortable at all,” James tried to break the ice with a little joke, quickly surveying the small room and making note of the two luggage bags that were placed next to the door, a small crate that was filled with pieces of paper, and the fact that Q was sleeping on what might as well be a bag stuffed with straw.

 

“Get off,” Q hissed, elbowing James in the ribs to get him to roll to the side and then proceeded to literally kick him out of his bed. “And learn that not all locked doors need to be kicked in!”

 

Ignoring everything, James jumped back to his feet and tugged Q up after him. “Come on, I got us some really nice dates and I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to point out the really nice shops in town—”

 

“I won’t start going out with women so you can pretend that I’m not me,” Q interrupted him, pulling his arm free and throwing himself back in his so-called bed, having a tug of war with James for the blanket for a moment before releasing it and curling in on himself. “Keep the blood thing, what do I care?”

 

The room was still spinning when James sat down next to Q, draping the flimsy blanket over him and squeezing his shoulders. “I don’t care about that, Q,” James admitted in a whisper, half lying because he was _worried_ with what Q might end up in the end. “I mean, I even searched the city for a special date just for you and while I admit to not knowing anything about your type, I do think you’ll like the guy.” He was hoping he wouldn’t because there was something about him that didn’t click with James despite being well-read, well-mannered, tall, redhead, green-eyed… Okay, the more he was thinking about it, he didn’t like the man because of all of that.

 

“Lovely of you,” Q said very carefully, trying to turn himself in an even smaller and tighter ball. “But not needed. I have moved passed such things and books are the only companion I need.”

 

It was very obvious that he was lying and James wondered if maybe that type of answer had been beaten into Q, filling with disgust at his class and regret for him. “You saved my life more times that I can count, laughed at my jokes, cared for me when I was sick… Do you really think that I’d look down on you for loving someone?”

 

Q let out a long, shaky sigh. “If you truly hold me in such high regard, could you leave me alone right now? I’m still so very tired, Bond, and I really don’t feel like pretending to be sociable for even your sake.”

 

The use of his last name was a powerful strike, but at least his title had been omitted – although he got the feeling that just thinking that word made Q sick to his stomach so saying it out loud in his current state might just kill him.   

 

“Come,” James said instead of what Q really want to hear, easily dragging him out of bed because he had lost that much weight. “You’ll sleep in my room until I buy you new furniture and when you wake up, we’ll have a long talk about you keeping your current living conditions from me.”

 

He nudged Q towards his large and soft bed, not even waiting for him to realize what was happening or even lay down before he pulled the covers over him, closing the window shutters.  “The sheets were changed just this morning,” he continued as if he was an innkeeper, pushing Q back down in the bed and covering him again. “But don’t worry about eating in bed and believe you me, you _will_ be eating even if I have to hold you down while someone else stuffs food down your throat.”

 

Q snorted, thankfully settling down before James decided to sit on top of him until he gave up. “You make everything sound so very appealing, Bond.”

 

“Can we go back to you calling me by my first name?” James asked as he formed an uneven circle of books around Q.

 

“That depends,” Q said slowly, arching his eyebrow. “Are you going to sacrifice me to some kind of pagan god of writing if I don’t or if I do?”

 

For no real reason, James started to laugh, brushing Q’s hair out of his eyes only to frown when he saw that they were cracked. “Is there a difference in pay between us because of our status?”

 

“No, it’s mostly because I’m a homosexual who should thank his lucky stars they caught me after they stopped executing people like me instead of asking for more than what I would need to get the cheapest food,” Q deadpanned because it was in his nature to attack in any way he could when he felt cornered, not unlike a scared animal. “Look, you already did a lot for me and I wouldn’t want you to stain yourself even more by talking with anyone about my payment, especially when I’m actually paid in freedom and in the opportunity to actually apply my knowledge and create things. Or, well, I will get to do the latter part when it’s proved that I didn’t _willingly_ give my blueprints to that nutcase.”

 

James left without saying anything and Q burrowed under the covers, letting out a shaky breath. He remembered how it felt to touch silk for the first time and how awkward he had felt, his lover at the time chuckling and hugging him tightly, covering the side of his face in butterfly kisses as he assured him that he had all the right to be there, flicking his nose when he suggested that they maybe should use the floor or something less expensive.

 

He had felt like a king that night and all the others that had followed and like a silly idiot he was, he really thought that everything was going to last. Even worse, on the night that he was dragged out of his lover’s bedroom by the hair while others held him down and called for a priest, he still believed the man’s words and was in denial about the only possible outcome because they’ve read books together in which love always won.

 

A large hand on his back startled him awake and he jumped out of bed, covering his head as best as he could as he covered in a corner.

 

“Q, dinner is ready,” James said carefully, holding out a hand to him. “The cook made all of your favourites.”

 

“I’m not really…” He trailed off, his growling stomach putting an end to the farce, reluctantly accepting James’ help. “Can we not talk about _that_?”

 

“We’ll only talk about it if you bring it up,” he promised, squeezing Q’s hand as he led him towards the door.

 

James ended up doing all the talking, but everything ended up being less awkward than Q thought it was going to be. He didn’t eat everything and while James looked like he wanted to tell him to have more, he was decent enough to carry on talking about the fifth duel he ended up participating in because of his wandering hands and eyes. He even got a chuckle out of Q when he told him about the one lord that went to the Queen and asked for his genitals as compensation for taking out his spinster sister without any chaperone, the only reason he was still intact being that an old Duke spoke up and said that James had not only helped the two of them meet, but acted as a witness at their secret wedding – granted, by that story, Q had quite a lot to drink and he even found his own name amusing, but James was steal beaming at the world for his insignificant achievement as he guided Q back to his room.

 

“I should go to my room,” Q said suddenly and jumped out of bed the second James’ ass touched the bed.

 

“Nothing bad will happen if they catch us sharing a bed.” Heck, they constantly shared a blanket in a flimsy tent and they always woke up due to someone making too much noise in their camp pretty much hugging each other and neither hag gotten dragged to a sheriff’s office yet, so James sure as hell wasn’t going to worry about any of their servants blowing the whistle on them, especially since they weren’t going to do anything. “But I can sleep on the covers if that would make you feel better.”

 

Q frowned and shook his head really hard, getting so dizzy that he ended up leaning against James’ shoulder without realizing it. “I slept in my room just fine up until now so there’s no reason for me not to do that anymore.” Even as he was saying that, he was cuddling closer to James, lulled to sleep by the man’s warmth and the way he was running his hand up and down his arm. “I’ll just close my eyes for a moment and then go, I promise.”

 

“No rush,” James whispered, trying to wrestle the covers around them without letting go of him. “Take as much time as you need, Q.”

 

James woke up feeling perfectly rested, like he usually did when he knew that Q was right next to him and since Q spent the first five minutes stretching and yawning after which he marched his partner out of bed, it was clear that he was also having a good start of a day and that he had decided to pretend like their latest mission hadn’t happened.

 

This wasn’t healthy at all, but James preferred Q to be in denial over the depressed version so he happily fell right back in their morning routine. He suppressed his need to throw his legs over Q and bury his face in his back as he usually did when they woke up right next to each other, instead simply spreading himself as much as he could in the bed while whining on top of his lungs that morning were cruel and cold, and wouldn’t it be better if they simply stayed right where they were until the sun reigned over the sky?

 

Q, in turn, elbowed his ribs and kicked his shins until he got his way, the butler letting out a sigh of relief when he saw that things had gotten back to normal when James was the one being dragged to the table and the food was wolfed down without too much attention, their breakfast ending with the two of them racing towards town.

 

Clothes were bought for Q despite his insistence that the ones he had were good enough and as that lasted until the sun actually set and their stomachs were more than upset by skipped lunch, they really didn’t have any other option other than to stop at the lively saloon in the middle of the town.

 

Women flocked to them as they usually did only this time, James made sure to pay a little more attention to Q, taking note of how his relaxed composure disappeared in the blink of an eye. That killed whatever sexual appetite he politely turned down his suitors in favour of taking a seat next to his distraught friend under the pretence of suddenly being in the mood for poker.

 

Naturally, Q knew right away that something was off and he arched his eyebrow, holding back from resting his hands on his hips since that was an open invitation for every available girl within twenty feet to attach themselves to him. “Do not hold back on my account, Bond, lest you want us to acknowledge what we both decided to ignore.”

 

“I’m not fully recovered from that bullet wound,” James easily and obviously lied, signalling a boy to bring them a pack of cards. “Plus, even if we don’t acknowledge it, it still happened. I’m still aware of it happening, I’m still going to present Blofeld’s head on a silver platter, England will still kiss your feet when you get back, and I refuse to have fun while you force yourself to stay on the side-lines.”

 

Sweet, but misguided, Q thought and as he looked around the room and easily pinpointing at least 7 people who looked more than happy and eager to keep him company. “I don’t force myself to do anything other than survive, Bond.” He sighed, slumping his shoulders, head bowed in a way that James found unnatural. “I can’t trust anyone even though I wasn’t betrayed by my partner,” Q whispered carefully, actually jumping a little when the doors were kicked open by an overly excited drunkard, James’ hand on his leg being the only thing that kept him from bolting.

 

“That’s one less person on my list even though I don’t know their name, nor am I interested in finding it out,” James mumbled, annoyed by the protective glare that Q seemed to invent on the spot. “America is the land of all possibilities and whatnot.”

 

“James, it can’t be possible for—”

 

“I have it on very good authority that it _can_ ,” James insisted. “Look, I know that it’s not my place to tell you how to live your life and that’s the furthest thing from what I want to do, but I couldn’t help but start nosing around and I found out that while homosexual acts are not officially embraced, they’re not prosecuted either.”

 

“It’s good to know,” Q said slowly after a moment, starting to shuffle the cards. “But I don’t want to start living it just not and don’t you dare put yours on hold out of pity for me.”

 

James laughed, winking at one of the dancers. “I assure you that I won’t.”

 

But that was exactly what he ended up doing. The first week after that conversation was excusable as it took that long for them to get to the secret bunker in the middle of nowhere to meet up with the President and an ‘unofficial official’ attaché to their Queen to inform them of the increases to their fees – Q being shocked to hear that he was now winning as much as James was – as well as to their research budget, but there was no other explanation for what happened after that.

 

He had so many chances to have great adventures with a myriad of beautiful women that only had eyes for him – for that respective moment in time, at least – and yet he squandered each and every one of them in favour of spending the night either a nice and quiet night in drinking tea and reading with Q or narrowly avoiding death due to testing out something that Q had put together.

 

People actually make bets on how long James could hold out for, but everyone lost because no one expected him to play the role of a monk for four months! He’d have probably held out for longer than that if Q hadn’t accepted the stuttered invitation to lunch of a former suspect that turned out to be a victim. The second the two started to make plans, James turned his charm to a hundred and landed himself a date in less than a minute with Q’s suitor’s sister, turning into a grouch the second they siblings left, glaring at everyone until they left him alone with Q.

 

“He’s not too tall, is he?” James grumbled, starting to dig through random pieces of paper. “I mean I don’t consider myself tall and yet I easily tower over him.”

 

Q frowned deeply, puckering his lips. “I actually think he’s half a head taller than me.” He suddenly started to smile, blushing a little which just made James feel even more annoyed because he had a pretty good idea what the other was thinking about.

 

“I’m sure he has something in his shoes, but maybe we should focus on the odd shape of his face,” James continued.

 

“A perfectly round or oval face would be extremely creepy,” Q said dismissively, patting James’ back. “Look, I know they’re twins, but they don’t look anything alike so you really don’t need to worry about having feelings for the sister.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply—”

 

“Would you be terribly bothered if you chaperoned for us tonight?” Q interrupted James’ apology, worrying his lower lip. “I mean, if you think you could stomach seeing two men interact in a more than friendly way. Not that we’re going to do anything in public or in private,” he added quickly, laughing nervously and avoiding eye contact with James at all cost. “You know, just forget everything I said. I’ll send him a message and cancel the whole thing right away and we can pretend that this conversation never happened.”

 

James grabbed Q’s arm before he could run to his bedroom, smiling softly. “Of course we’ll chaperone, Q. And don’t hold back on our account if you feel the need to do anything or that the mood is right because I never do.”

 

Two hours later, James was regretting saying that because there was something that really bothered him when he saw how close what’s-his-face was to Q and how the bastard made sure to brush up against him no matter how he moved and he knew without a doubt that the way he felt had absolutely nothing to do with Q’s interest in men. Even his date had noticed that she wasn’t really what he focused on, but she didn’t say anything because it was obvious that her brother was having a nice time, as was Q.

 

“So, for how long you've been in love with him and why you haven’t told him yet?” She asked when James started to slowly lean towards her at the end of the night. “I am talking about Q, of course,” she cleared up, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest.

 

“I do not know what you’re talking about.”

 

She huffed, now resting her hands on her hips. “Mister Bond, I am willing to put up with quite a lot for the sake of my brother, including two fake engagements and getting ran out of a town because of race, but I refuse to spend even a second with someone who denies himself what he feels and what they are just because social constructs formed on religious belief demands that a man may only lie with a woman and vice versa.”

 

James mouth opened and closed a couple of times, proper words refusing to come out.

 

“Oh, I understand now.” James really did not like the soft way she chuckled or the gentle way she was patting his back. “My brother tends to fall in and out of love pretty fast and given that you and Q are set to leave in two days… Well, let’s just say that if Q fell harder for him, you’ll get to be the shoulder he’ll cry on.”

 

“If you weren’t a woman,” James growled threateningly, shrugging off her hands so he could rest his hands in the palm of his hands. “And if I weren’t in such a huge conundrum…”

 

The woman rolled her eyes, grumbling something under her breath about people being too indecisive and afraid for their own good before knocking on the door and letting herself in, walking out with her stuttering brother not a minute later, wishing a very confused – and only mildly dishevelled and embarrassed – Q a lovely rest of his life with James.

 

“This is all on me,” James jumped in before Q could jump to any wrong conclusions and go right back into a depression, wrapping his arm around the middle as he led him back inside the train. “We might need some Irish tea with extra Irish by the time I’m done explaining this.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are food for a writer's soul.


End file.
